O, a gallant set were they,
As they charged on us that day,
A thousand riding like one!
Their trumpets crying,
And their white plumes flying,
And their sabres flashing in the sun.
O, a sorry lot were we,
As we stood beside the sea,
Each man for himself as he stood!
We were scattered and lonely--
A little force only
Of the good men fighting for the good.
But I never loved more
On sea or on shore
The ringing of my own true blade,
Like lightning it quivered,
And the hard helms shivered,
As I sang, "None maketh me afraid!"
_Mary E. Coleridge._
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