Oe 
160 THE FALCON. 
Times are not now as they were then; 
Ours is a race of different men, 
Who loathe the sword and love the pen; 
For rignt, not rapine, bold. 
No more, as then, the ladies bright 
Work tapestry-work from morn till night; 
The very children read and. write, 
Like learned clerks of old! 
Oh, Falcon proud, and goshawk gay, 
Your pride of place has passed away ; 
The lone wood is your home by day, 
Your resting perch by night; 
The craggy rock your castle-tower ; 
The gay green-wood your ladies’ bower ; 
Your own wild will, the master power 
That can control your flight! 
Yet noble bird old fame is thine; 
Still livest thou in the minstrel’s line ; 
Still in old pictures art the sign 
Of high and pure degree ; 
