V.

"Behold!" the Shadow said--a hell-born ray Shoots through the Night, up-leaps the unholy Day, Spring from the earth the Dragon's armed seed, The ghastly squadron wheels, and neighs the spectre-steed. Unnatural sounded the sweet Mother-tongue, As loud from host to host the English war-cry rung; Kindred with kindred blent in slaughter show The dark phantasma of the Prophet-Woe! A gay and glittering band! Apollo's lovelocks in the crest of Mars-- Light-hearted Valour, laughing scorn to scars-- A gay and glittering band, Unwitting of the scythe--the lilies of the land! Pale in the midst, that stately squadron boasts A princely form, a mournful brow; And still, where plumes are proudest, seen, With sparkling eye and dauntless mien, The young Achilles[P] of the hosts. On rolls the surging war--and now Along the closing columns ring-- "Rupert" and "Charles"--"The Lady of the Crown,"[Q] "Down with the Roundhead Rebels, down!" "St. George and England's king."

A stalwart and a sturdy band,-- Whose souls of sullen zeal Are made, by the Immortal Hand Invulnerable steel! A kneeling host,--a pause of prayer, A single voice thrills through the air "They come. Up, Ironsides! For TRUTH and PEACE unsparing smite! Behold the accursed Amalekite!" The Dreamer's heart beat high and loud, For, calmly through the carnage-cloud, The scourge and servant of the Lord, This hand the Bible--that the sword-- The Phantom-Cromwell rides!

A lurid darkness swallows the array, One moment lost--the darkness rolls away, And, o'er the slaughter done, Smiles, with his eyes of love, the setting Sun; Death makes our foe our brother; And, meekly, side by side, Sleep scowling Hate and sternly smiling Pride, On the kind breast of Earth, the quiet Mother! Lo, where the victor sweeps along, The Gideon of the gory throng, Beneath his hoofs the harmless dead-- The aureole on his helmed head-- Before him steel-clad Victory bending, Around, from earth to heaven ascending The fiery incense of triumphant song. So, as some orb, above a mighty stream Sway'd by its law, and sparkling in its beam,-- A power apart from that tempestuous tide, Calm and aloft, behold the Phantom-Conqueror ride!

"Art thou content--of these the greatest Thou, Hero and Patriot?" murmur'd then the Fiend. The unsleeping Dreamer answer'd, "Tempter, nay, My soul stands breathless on the mountain's brow And looks _beyond_!" Again swift darkness screen'd The solemn Chieftain and the fierce array, And armed Glory pass'd, like happier Peace, away.