And is it now a goodly sight,
Or dreadful, to behold
The pomp of that approaching fight--
Waving ensigns, pennons light,
And gleaming blades and bayonets bright,
And eagles wing’d with gold;--
And warrior bands of many a hue,
Scarlet and white and green and blue,
Like rainbows, o’er the morning dew
Their varied tints unfold:
While swells the martial din around,--
And, starting at the bugle’s sound,
The tramping squadrons beat the ground,
And drums unceasing roll:
Frequent and long the warrior cheer,
To glory’s perilous career
Awakes and fires the soul:
And oft, by fits confused and clear,
The din and clang, to fancy’s ear,
The knell of thousands toll.