XVII.
“At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends, from heaven that fell,
Had peal’d the banner cry of hell!
Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,
The archery appear;
For life! for life! their plight they ply—
And shriek, and shout, and battle cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broadswords flashing to the sky,
Are maddening in the rear.
Onward they drive, in dreadful race,
Pursuers and pursued;
Before that tide of flight and chase,
How shall it keep its rooted place,
The spearmen’s twilight wood?—
‘Down, down,’ cried Mar, ‘your lances down!
Bear back both friend and foe!’—
Like reeds before the tempest’s frown,
That serried grove of lances brown
At once lay level’d low;
And closely shouldering side to side,
The bristling ranks the onset bide.—
‘We’ll quell the savage mountaineer,
As their Tinchel[352] cows the game!
They come as fleet as forest deer,
We’ll drive them back as tame.’ ”—