Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Our airy feet, So light and fleet, They do not bend the rye That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, And swells again in eddying wave, As each wild gust blows by; But still the corn, At dawn of morn, Our fatal steps that bore, At eve lies waste, A trampled paste Of blackening mud and gore. Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. V. Wheel the wild dance! Brave sons of France, For you our ring makes room; Make space full wide For martial pride, For banner, spear, and plume. Approach, draw near, Proud cuirassier! Room for the men of steel! Through crest and plate The broadsword’s weight Both head and heart shall feel. VI. Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Sons of the spear! You feel us near In many a ghastly dream; With fancy’s eye Our forms you spy, And hear our fatal scream. With clearer sight Ere falls the night, Just when to weal or woe Your disembodied souls take flight On trembling wing—each startled sprite Our choir of death shall know. VII. Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, Redder rain shall soon be ours— See the east grows wan— Yield we place to sterner game, Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame Shall the welkin’s thunders shame, Elemental rage is tame To the wrath of man. VIII. At morn, grey Allan’s mates with awe Heard of the visioned sights he saw, The legend heard him say; But the Seer’s gifted eye was dim, Deafened his ear, and stark his limb, Ere closed that bloody day. He sleeps far from his Highland heath, But often of the Dance of Death His comrades tell the tale On picquet-post, when ebbs the night, And waning watch-fires glow less bright, And dawn is glimmering pale. ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. FROM THE FRENCH. [1815.]