That drown the groans of horse and rider dying,
Press on the Saxon spears.
What stays their flight? The song of Rolla rising
In angry swell above the dreadful roar —
Again they charge!—the bolts of death despising,
And Harold’s reign is o’er.
Dread Power of Song! whose voice can thus awaken
Notes that consign an empire to the grave;
Or, when recoils a host by panic shaken,
From rout the valiant save.