Master Oliver

Who shall ever forget it? the dead face of thy father, And thou in thy fight-battered armour above it, Mid the passion of tears long held back by the battle; And thy rent banner o'er thee and the ring of men mail-clad, Victorious to-day, since their ruin but a spear-length Was thrust away from them.--Son, think of thy glory And e'en in such wise break the throng of these devils!