Lord Alfred Tennyson

The Princess: a Medley: Thy Voice Is Heard

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.
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