 | Peace and war |  |
7
V.
But who is this with frowning helm,And falchion in a mailéd grasp,
And tramp that jarreth many a realm,
From whom, with wild imploring clasp
Of heavenward hands, thou turnest thee to fly?
O shun his furious eye!
O name him not!—and yet his name
Stands highest in the rolls of fame.
Unswerving, terrible he comes,
With arms' clang, trumpet's scream, and din of drums.
| Peace and war | |