He thinks not of them:--From that height He views the scene of future fight, And, silent and serene, surveys, Down to the plain where Teio strays, The woods, the streams, the mountain ways, Each dell and sylvan hold: Prescient of all the war, he knows On wing or center, where the foes May pour their fury most; And marks what portion of the field To their advance ’twere good to yield, And what must not be lost. And all his gallant chiefs around Observant watch, where o’er the ground His eagle glance has rolled. Few words he spake, or needed they, Of counsel for the approaching fray, Where to condense the loose array, Or where the line unfold: They saw, they felt what he would say, And the best order of the day, It was his eye that told. X. And is it now a goodly sight, Or dreadful, to behold The pomp of that approaching fight-- Waving ensigns, pennons light, And gleaming blades and bayonets bright, And eagles wing’d with gold;-- And warrior bands of many a hue, Scarlet and white and green and blue, Like rainbows, o’er the morning dew Their varied tints unfold: While swells the martial din around,-- And, starting at the bugle’s sound, The tramping squadrons beat the ground, And drums unceasing roll: Frequent and long the warrior cheer, To glory’s perilous career Awakes and fires the soul: And oft, by fits confused and clear, The din and clang, to fancy’s ear, The knell of thousands toll. XI. Soon, soon shall vanish that array, Those varied colours fade away Like meteors light and vain, And eagle bright and pennon gay, Ensanguined dust distain: And soon be hush’d in various death, The cymbal’s clang, the clarion’s breath, The thunder of the plain:-- That sun which fires the eastern sky Shall set, ere noon, to many an eye In battle’s stormy main! The young, the gay, the proud, the strong, Ghastly and gored, shall lie along In mingled carnage piled. Blood shall pollute the limpid source, And Teio flow, with many a corse Affrighted and defiled. XII.