Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/108

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So shrank they from th' imperial glance Of Her—that fragile thing! And her flute-like voice rose clear and high, Through the din of arms around, Sweet, and yet stirring to the soul, As a silver clarion's sound.

"The honour of the Lily   Is in your hands to keep, And the Banner of the Cross, for Him    Who died on Calvary's steep: And the city which for Christian prayer    Hath heard the holy bell— And is it these your hearts would yield    To the godless Infidel?

"Then bring me here a breastplate,   And a helm, before ye fly, And I will gird my woman's form,    And on the ramparts die!