forms again.
The meteor-plume in majesty still floats along the
plain—
Brave, bonny Scots! ye fight the field of Bannockburn
again!
The Gallic lines send forth a cheer; its feeble echoes
die—
The British squadrons rend the air—and “Victory!”
is their cry.
'T was helter-skelter, devil take the hindmost, sauve