Thy voice is heard thro’ rolling drums,
That beat to battle where he stands;
Thy face across his fancy comes,
And gives the battle to his hands:
A moment, while the trumpets blow,
He sees his brood about thy knee;
The next, like fire he meets the foe,
And strikes him dead for thine and thee.
(Lord Alfred Tennyson)
More Poetry from Lord Alfred Tennyson:
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- The Lotos-eaters (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 7. Dark house, by which once more I s (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: Is it, then, regret for buried time (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
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