"The warden of a castle on the marches laid, Far from his sovereign, distant from much-needed aid, Defends his post with valour from beleaguering foe, Disdains to be bought over, scorns the tempter’s foe, His station’s on a frontier, no eye sees him act To duty true, he honestly fulfils his pact. Then in his monarch’s presence honours due he gains, Above the brave men fighting in the royal trains, Man’s faith and piety on earth are prized of God, But after death professed, less value have than clod."