III.

On foot the yeomen too, but dressed In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest, With iron quilted well; Each at his back (a slender store) His forty days’ provision bore, As feudal statutes tell. His arms were halbert, axe, or spear, A crossbow there, a hagbut here, A dagger-knife, and brand. Sober he seemed, and sad of cheer, As loth to leave his cottage dear, And march to foreign strand; Or musing who would guide his steer To till the fallow land. Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye Did aught of dastard terror lie; More dreadful far his ire Than theirs, who, scorning danger’s name, In eager mood to battle came, Their valour like light straw on flame, A fierce but fading fire.