There
were gallant warriors of every age, from the old man to the beardless
youth; chargers, superb in form and rich in decoration; a field of
spears glittering in the broad sunshine, some bearing the light gay
pennoncelle, others absolutely bending beneath the heavy folds of
banners, which the light breeze at times extended so as to display
their curious heraldic bearings, and then sunk heavily around their
staffs. Esquires bearing their masters' shields, whose spotless
fields flung back a hundred-fold the noonday sun--plumes so long and
drooping, as to fall from the gilded crest till they rested on the
shoulder--armor so bright as to dazzle the eyes of the beholders, save
when partly concealed under the magnificent surcoats and mantles,
amongst which the richest velvets, slashed with gold or silver,
distinguished the highest nobles. Pageantry like this mingled with
such stirring sounds as the tramp of the noble horse, curveting,
prancing, rearing, as if disdaining the slow order of march--the
thrilling blast of many trumpets, the long roll, or short, sharp call
of the drum; and the mingled notes of martial instruments, blending
together in wild yet stirring harmony, would be sufficient even
in this prosaic age to bid the heart throb and the cheek burn,
recognizing it, as perhaps we should, merely as the _symbol_, not the
_thing_.
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