Page:Tales and Historic Scenes.pdf/33

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And steeds in gorgeous trappings, armour bright With gold, reflecting every tint of light, And many a floating plume, and blazon'd shield, Diffused romantic splendor o'er the field.

There swell those sounds that bid the life-blood start Swift to the mantling cheek, and beating heart. The clang of echoing steel, the charger's neigh, The measured tread of hosts in war's array; And oh! that music, whose exulting breath Speaks but of glory on the road to death; In whose wild voice there dwells inspiring power To wake the stormy joy of danger's hour; To nerve the arm, the spirit to sustain, Rouse from despondence, and support in pain; And, midst the deepening tumults of the strife, Teach every pulse to thrill with more than life.

High o'er the camp, in many a broider'd fold, Floats to the wind a standard rich with gold: There, imaged on the cross, his form appears, Who drank for man the bitter cup of tears.9 His form, whose word recall'd the spirit, fled, Now borne by hosts to guide them o'er the dead!