Wave thou—while I weep by thy side!
HACON.
The clash of arms in battle’s rout
Was heard on Storda’s shore;
The war-steed’s tramp—the victor’s shout—
Blent with the billows’ roar.
There standard, helm, and burnish’d shield
Were mingled on the plain—
And blood, like rivers, from that field
Crimsoned the shuddering main.