“Courage was cast about her like a dress
Of solemn comeliness,
A gather’d mind and an untroubled face
Did give her dangers grace.” Donne.
The war-note of the Saracen
Was on the winds of France;
It had still’d the harp of the Troubadour,
And the clash of the tourney’s lance.
The sounds of the sea, and the sounds of the night,
And the hollow echoes of charge and flight,