And steeds in gorgeous trappings, armour bright
With gold, reflecting every tint of light,
And many a floating plume and blazon’d shield
Diffused romantic splendour o’er the field.
There swell those sounds that bid the life-blood start
Swift to the mantling cheek and beating heart:
The clang of echoing steel, the charger’s neigh,
The measured tread of hosts in war’s array;
And, oh! that music, whose exulting breath
Speaks but of glory on the road to death;