The Princess: A Medley: Thy Voice is Heard

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Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums,
 That beat to battle where he stands;
Thy face across his fancy comes,
 And gives the battle to his hands:
A moment, while the trumpets blow,
 He sees his brood about thy knee;
The next, like fire he meets the foe,
 And strikes him dead for thine and thee.

© Alfred Tennyson