Though the mead be foaming bright,
Though the fires give ruddy light,
Leave the hearth, and leave the hall—
Arm thee! Britain’s foes must fall.”
And the chieftain arm’d, and the horn was blown;
And the bended bow and the voice pass’d on.
“Prince! thy father’s deeds are told
In the bower and in the hold,
Where the goatherd’s lay is sung,
Where the minstrel’s harp is strung!