The bugle blast upon the air with clarion tone is heard,
The burghers on the city wall reply with scoffing word;
And like the noise of thunder the clattering squadrons haste,
And on his charger fleet he leads his army o'er the waste.
In front of his attendants his march the hero made,
He tarried not for retinue or clattering cavalcade,
And they who blamed the rash assault with weak and coward minds
Deserted him their leader bold or loitered far behind.
And now he stands beneath the wall and sees before him rise
The object of the great campaign, his valor's priceless prize;