by Violet Hunt.
Originally published in Longman's Magazine (Longmans, Green & Co.) vol.1 #9 (Jul 1883).
Knights! of your charity I pray, leave him lying here a space,
On the flags before the altar, with the sun upon his face;
Lay his recreant sword beside him, and the battered helmet dim,
With its blood-stained sleeve of yellow some fair lady gave to him.
Though he lived a graceless life, though he died a shameful death,
Fighting on the side of evil, lying to his latest breath,
Yet he fought both well and bravely, knightly-wise did wield his sword,
Till his righteous foe assailed him, and he died without a word.
Here, as he is lying lonely, haply Heaven shall send him grace,
The white dove behind the altar shall alight upon his face;
Or his faithful hound shall follow, come to lick the cruel hand,
That lay heavy on the people, like God's curse upon the land.
Or perchance his sweetest lady, with her face and robe of white,
As she watched the bitter combat, shall come kiss her shameful knight
On the lips that no man trusted, which her kisses shall make clean,
And the blood-stains show the fainter where the fallen tears have been.