When, like a Paladin of old, Blake, brave as brave could be,
Sprung from the lines, and spurred his steed along the grassy lea.
We saw him gallop toward the foe, and our passions thrilled us, when
We viewed him ride along their lines and coolly count their men,
And turn and gallop backward, and grasp our general’s hand,
Then silently resume his place, and head his little band:
We paused, when, rushing, roaring, whirling, whistling, wildly by,
Came the iron rain of Battle, while his thunder shook the sky.
Like a cloud the smoke closed round, and like steeds to frenzy lashed
The black eyes of our batteries their deadly fury flashed: