To battle, where, unceasing, foemen wage
War on your marches, and your wardens rage
In impotent despair with desperate swords,
While you, O King, with sheathèd arms abide?"
She paused, and, wondering, the King and lords
Looked on her mutely; then, again, she spake:
"Shall I, then, and my maidens sally forth
With battle-brands to conquer the wild north?
Yea, I will go! Who follows after me?"
As by a blow struck suddenly awake,