A twilight forest frown’d;
Their barbed[349] horsemen, in the rear,
The stern battalia[350] crown’d.
No cymbal clash’d, no clarion rang,
Still were the pipe and drum;
Save heavy tread, and armor’s clang,
The sullen march was dumb.
There breathed no wind their crests to shake,
Or wave their flags abroad;
Scarce the frail aspen seem’d to quake,