Unwarlike, herded as cattle,

Six miles from the foeman's eye

That fastens as flame on the sight of them tame and offenceless, and ranged as to die.

Surely the souls in them quail,

They are stricken and withered at heart,

When in on them, sail by sail,

Fierce marvels of monstrous art,

Tower darkening on tower till the sea-winds cower crowds down as to hurl them apart.

And the windless weather is kindly,

And comforts the host in these;

And their hearts are uplift in them blindly,

And blindly they boast at ease

That the next day's fight shall exalt them, and smite with destruction the lords of the seas.

II

And lightly the proud hearts prattle,

And lightly the dawn draws nigh,

The dawn of the doom of the battle

When these shall falter and fly;

No day more great in the roll of fate filled ever with fire the sky.

To fightward they go as to feastward,

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