Don Roderick turned him as the shout grew loud— A varied scene the changeful vision showed, For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad. From mast and stern St. George’s symbol flowed, Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; Mottling the sea their landward barges rowed, And flashed the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, And the wild beach returned the seamen’s jovial cheer. LVI. It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight! The billows foamed beneath a thousand oars, Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, Legions on legions bright’ning all the shores. Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum, Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, For, bold in Freedom’s cause, the bands of Ocean come! LVII. A various host they came—whose ranks display Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, The deep battalion locks its firm array, And meditates his aim the marksman light; Far glance the light of sabres flashing bright Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead, Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night, Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by rapid steed, That rivals lightning’s flash in ruin and in speed. LVIII. A various host—from kindred realms they came, Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown— For yon fair bands shall merry England claim, And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown, And hers their scorn of death in freedom’s cause, Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, And free-born thoughts which league the Soldier with the Laws. LIX. And, oh! loved warriors of the Minstrel’s land! Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave! The rugged form may mark the mountain band, And harsher features, and a mien more grave; But ne’er in battlefield throbbed heart so brave As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid; And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, And level for the charge your arms are laid, Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset stayed! LX.