It is better to die, since death comes surely,
In the full noontide of an honored name,
Than to lie at the end of years obscurely,
A handful of dust in a shroud of shame.

Sir Hugo lived in the ages golden,
Warder of Aisne and Picardy:
He lived and died, and his deeds are told in
The Book immortal of Chivalrie:

How he won the love of a prince’s daughter—
A poor knight he with a stainless sword—
Whereat Count Rolf, who had vainly sought her,
Swore death should sit at the bridal board.

“A braggart’s threat, for a brave man’s scorning!”
And Hugo laughed at his rival’s ire,
But couriers twain, on the bridal morning,
To his castle gate came with tidings dire.

The first a-faint and with armor riven:
“In peril sore have I left thy bride,—
False Roll waylaid us. For love and Heaven!
Sir Hugo, quick to the rescue ride!”

Stout Hugo muttered a word unholy;
He sprang to horse and he flashed his brand,
But a hand was laid on his bridle slowly,
And a herald spoke: “By the king’s command

“This to Picardy’s trusty warder
France calls first for his loyal sword,
The Flemish spears are across the border,
And all is lost if they win the ford.”

Sir Hugo paused, and his face was ashen,
His white lips trembled in silent prayer—
God’s pity soften the spirit’s passion
When the crucifixion of Love is there!

What need to tell of the message spoken?
Of the hand that shook as he poised his lance?
And the look that told of his brave heart broken,
As he bade them follow, “For God and France!”

On Cambray’s field next morn they found him,
‘Mid a mighty swath of foemen dead;
Her snow-white scarf he had bound around him
With his loyal blood was baptized red.

It is all writ down in the book of Glory,
On crimson pages of blood and strife,
With scanty thought for the simple story
Of duty dearer than love or life.

Only a note obscure, appended
By warrior scribe or monk perchance,
Saith: “The good knight’s ladye was sore offended
That he would not die for her but France.’

Did the ladye live to lament her lover?
Or did roystering Rolf prove a better mate?
I have searched the records over and over,
But nought discover to tell her fate.

And I read the moral.—A brave endeavor
To do thy duty, whate’er its worth,
Is better than life with love forever—
And love is the sweetest thing on earth.