There’s dust upon thy plume,
Thou hast brought from some disastrous field
That brow of wrath and gloom!”
“And is there blood upon my shield?
Maiden, it well may be!
We have sent the streams from our battle-field
All darken’d to the sea!
We have given the founts a stain,
Midst their woods of ancient pine;
And the ground is wet—but not with rain,