And the beam from the steel of the valiant was shed
Through the dun-rolling clouds that o’ershadow’d the fray.
I saw the dark forest of lances appear,
As the ears of the harvest unnumber’d they stood;
I heard the stern shout as the foemen drew near,
Like the storm that lays low the proud pines of the wood.
Afar the harsh notes of the war-drum were roll’d,
Uprousing the wolf from the depth of his lair;
On high to the gust stream’d the banner’s red fold,
O’er the death-close of hate, and the scowl of despair.