Fitz-James was brave:--though to his heart The life-blood thrilled with sudden start, He manned himself with dauntless air, Returned the Chief his haughty stare, His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before:--'Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I.'
Sir Roderick marked,--and in his eyes Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foeman worthy of their steel.
Short space he stood--then waved his hand:
Down sunk the disappearing band;
Each warrior vanished where he stood, In broom or bracken, heath or wood;Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, In osiers pale and copses low;It seemed as if their mother Earth Had swallowed up her warlike birth.
The wind's last breath had tossed in air Pennon and plaid and plumage fair,--The next but swept a lone hill-side Where heath and fern were waving wide:
The sun's last glance was glinted back From spear and glaive, from targe and jack,--The next, all unreflected, shone On bracken green and cold gray stone.
