Beneath bronze chariot wheels the torn earth steamed A mighty death-mist, Druids called in vain Their forest gods, across the battle plain The savage stallions of Diarmuid screamed; For on Columba's men a brightness streamed Keener than whistling sword-flame or fierce rain Of whirling brands, and high above the slain Invisible with light mailed Michael gleamed. The armies bowed like grass on windy weirs Before the unknown foeman's burning shield, -- Then from the silence rose hoarse triumph cries; And brass walls wavered under rattling spears, As wild Tyr-Conall's prince swept down the field Led by the lone white warrior of the skies. |