He paused—the word the vassals took,
With forward step and fiery look,
On high their naked brands they shook,
Their clattering targets wildly strook;
And first, in murmur low,
Then, like the billow in his course,
That far to seaward finds his source,
And flings to shore his mustered force,
Burst with loud roar, their answer hoarse,
"Woe to the traitor, woe!"
Plate LXXIX.
The Lady of the Lake.
Canto IV. The Prophecy.