Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   Hushed is the din of tongues—­on gallant steeds,
   With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised lance,
   Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds,
   And lowly bending to the lists advance;
   Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance: 
   If in the dangerous game they shine to-day,
   The crowd’s loud shout, and ladies’ lovely glance,
   Best prize of better acts, they bear away,
And all that kings or chiefs e’er gain their toils repay.