Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/56

 And fain of the wild glad weather As famine is fain of feast, And fain of the fight, forth sweeps in its might the host of the Lord's high priest.

And lightly before the breeze The ships of his foes take wing: Are they scattered, the lords of the seas? Are they broken, the foes of the king? And ever now higher as a mounting fire the hopes of the Spaniard spring.

And a windless night comes down: And a breezeless morning, bright With promise of praise to crown The close of the crowning fight, Leaps up as the foe's heart leaps, and glows with lustrous rapture of light.