Robbins Library Digital Projects Announcement: We are currently working on a large-scale migration of the Robbins Library Digital Projects to a new platform. This migration affects The Camelot Project, The Robin Hood Project, The Crusades Project, The Cinderella Bibliography, and Visualizing Chaucer.
While these resources will remain accessible during the course of migration, they will be static, with reduced functionality. They will not be updated during this time. We anticipate the migration project to be complete by Summer 2025.
If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us directly at robbins@ur.rochester.edu. We appreciate your understanding and patience.
While these resources will remain accessible during the course of migration, they will be static, with reduced functionality. They will not be updated during this time. We anticipate the migration project to be complete by Summer 2025.
If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us directly at robbins@ur.rochester.edu. We appreciate your understanding and patience.
The Song of the Errant Knight
In armor drest, with flowing crest,
And good brand at my side,
By hill and dale, and wooded vale,
From Camelot I ride.
On emprise bent, I am content,
Where'er my lot may be,
If it but leads to gallant deeds
And feats of chivalry.
At times, perchance, I couch my lance
To meet some stranger knight,
Spur, charge full tilt, and grasp my hilt
When oak shafts splinter quite.
God lends his aid to my staunch blade,
As bites each sweeping blow,
All foes must yield, drop mace and shield,
And reel o'er saddle-bow.
And east and west, at maid's behest,
I ride from dawn till night,
In donjon keep where ladies weep,
I break false traitors' might.
But when I long for wassail song
And chivalry's fierce sport,
Good-by to strife and a roving life,
And back to Arthur's Court!
And good brand at my side,
By hill and dale, and wooded vale,
From Camelot I ride.
On emprise bent, I am content,
Where'er my lot may be,
If it but leads to gallant deeds
And feats of chivalry.
At times, perchance, I couch my lance
To meet some stranger knight,
Spur, charge full tilt, and grasp my hilt
When oak shafts splinter quite.
God lends his aid to my staunch blade,
As bites each sweeping blow,
All foes must yield, drop mace and shield,
And reel o'er saddle-bow.
And east and west, at maid's behest,
I ride from dawn till night,
In donjon keep where ladies weep,
I break false traitors' might.
But when I long for wassail song
And chivalry's fierce sport,
Good-by to strife and a roving life,
And back to Arthur's Court!
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