Strike the full-sounding chord?
But helms were glancing on the stream,
Spears ranged in close array,
And shields flung back a glorious beam
To the morn of a fearful day!
And the mountain-echoes of the land
Swell’d through the deep blue sky;
While to soft strains moved forth a band
Of men that moved to die.
They march’d not with the trumpet’s blast,