Chapter 10

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.