Chapter 2
The Fair Brass by Robert Bridges Read for LibriBox.org by Alan Mapstone An effigy of brass, trotten by careless feet, Of worshippers that pass, beautiful and complete, Lieth in the sombre isle of this old church unrecked,
And still from modern style, shielded by kind neglects. It shows a warrior armed, across his iron breast, His hands by death are charmed, to leave his sword at rest, Wherewith he led his men, or sea and smoke to hell, The astonished Saracen, nor doubted he did well.
Would we could teach our sons his trust in face of doom, Or give our bravest ones a comparable tomb, Such as to look on shrives the heart of half its care, So in each line survives the spirit that made it fair. So fair the characters with which the dusky scroll,
That tells his title stirs, a requiem for his soul. Yet dearer far to me, and braver as he, are they, Who fight by land and sea for England at this day, Whose vile memorials in mournful marble's guilt, Deface the beauteous walls by growing glory built.
Heirs of our antique shrines, sires of our future fame, Whose starry honour shines in many a noble name, Across the deathful days linked in the brotherhood, That loves our country's praise, and lives for heavenly good.
