In exultation’s shout of victory!
Not all thy columns veteran or fresh
Could save the field by grisly corpses heaped
Against the spectral squadron which outrode
Both Fighting Phil and Morgan’s Men alike,
As on the Battle’s flank it weirdly hung
Or where the Dragon’s Teeth of Hate were sowed
Sprang up as Headless Horsemen armed to strike
And crumple back the charge by fury flung.
They loomed like apparitions, terror-born,