And bowmen in the battle-glare
Rose from the ghostly dew:
The clothyard sang upon the air
And the grey goose-feather flew!
Harry of England is awake,
His archers mind not trench or stake!
And men have seen the Emperor,
The Eagle of the South:
God grant the bonds be loosed by Thor
That bind that marble mouth!
The silver roads of conquest lie
Fast frozen in his brow:
Would those imperious lips were free
To give their orders now!
The floods of battle ebb and flow,
The soldiers to Valhalla go!
Beyond the thunder of the guns,
Beyond the flaming line,
Far from this sky of echoing bronze,
The English valleys shine,
The gardens moated in the wolds
By wind and water kissed,
And dainty girls, that England folds
In sunshine and in mist.
The floods of battle ebb and flow,
The soldiers to Valhalla go!
9
