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Thus marshall'd, o'er Denania's misty vale
The Danes their way pursue, then sudden halt, Whilst Gorthmund thus his brave compeers address'd.
"Ye scowling warriors, whose big bosoms pant
For the strong toil of battle! See ye not
“A black cloud louring o'er yon mountain's brow?
Approaches with his swarming legions, bred
"In Mercia's fruitful vales, and Sigebert
"On the right wing leads forth the Wessex bands. "But be ye not dismay'd; here let us halt,
"Screen'd by this woody height, and wait the attack. "The God of victory smiles upon our arms; "Thrice hath the Raven clapp'd his glossy wings,
"Thrice since the break of morn." Here ceas'd the Chief. Meanwhile the van of Segowold's firm troops Exulting reach'd the plain below, and now
In banner'd pomp the rampant Dragon shone
Full on the adverse Host. A goodly scene,
Hath Death bestrode! The silver shields are struck-
Floating before his eyes, and with a smile
Gave up the ghost!
A faithful band of Danes
Their pointed bucklers o'er the lifeless corse
Suspend, whilst from their deep-toned harps, the Scalds Pour'd forth their solemn-breathing strains. "Behold,
Spirit of Death! thy victory! behold,
"Fit inmate for the yawning grave,
"Low weltering in the dust, and cold,
"The bravest of the brave!
"Gothmund! inglorious lies
Thy plume, that rivall'd erst the dazzling snow;
"Clos'd are those eyes,
"That erst flash'd terror on the foe,
"And crush'd the sinewy arm, that laid the mighty low!
"Never more along the mountains
"But some belated hunter, wandering near
(What time the western promontory "Is ting'd with Eve's departing glory,) Bending in pensive sadness o'er his spear, "Shall muse on thee whose ashes rest beneath
"The hill of Roes, whilst through the deepening gloom "The night-gales fitful moans funereal horrors breathe."
The Virtues of this Saint, as mentioned in the poem, may be · found particularized in his life. The honour intended him by the Spaniards, is mentioned by Andrewes, History of England, Vol. 1.
One day, it matters not to know How many hundred years ago, A Spaniard stopt at a posada door :
The Landlord came to welcome him, and chat
Of this and that,
For he had seen the Traveller there before.
Does holy Romuald dwell
Still in his cell?
The Traveller ask'd, or is the old man dead?
So good a Christian never more shall see,