POETRY.
To the feel of the foil in the heel of your hand, To the rasp of the meeting steel, To the click and clash of a parried threat, To the joy that a man may feel When the lithe blade slides o'er a lowered guard to the cry of " A hit to you I" To the ready foot, and the steady hand, and the eye that's quick and true. Refrain.
Comrades, stand up, and drain ,a cup To the best surcease from toil Drink hand on hip to our fellowship, The Fellowship of the Foil I To the quick-stepped lunge and recover, To the tap of the shifting feet, To the clash and clang of the big bell-hilts When the thrust and the parry meet.
And last, to the comrade or Master-at-Arms who taught us to thrust and ward, To 'prentice and master and Deacon-of-Craft in the Mystery of the Sword. Refrain.
nx.
To the jacket, the mask, and the gauntlet-glove, To pommel, and hilt, and blade, To button, and guard, and fencing-shoe, To all the tools of our trade.
To every man who can handle a foil, whoever, wherever he be,
A level floor, and a steady light, and a fight from favour free.
Refrain. JAMES KNIGHT-AMUR.
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