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Impatient for that battle plain He may reach but never leave again; And with flashing eye and sudden start, He hears the trumpet's stately tone, Like the echo of his beating heart, And meant to rouse his ear alone. And by his side the warrior grey, With hair as white as the plumes that play Over his head, yet spurs he as proud, As keen as the youngest knight of the crowd: And glad and glorious on they ride In strength and beauty, power and pride. And such the morning, but let day Close on that gallant fair array, The moon will see another sight Than that which met the dawning light.—