V

All round the folding hills were like green waves,

Tossing awhile together ere they fall

And fling their salt on the steep stony beach.

The sound I heard was sound of Roman feet —

I saw the sparkling light on Roman glaives,

I heard the Roman speech

Answering the wild Iberian battle-call:

They passed from sight on the long street.

And I saw then the Mercian Kings that strode

Proudly from the small city of grey stone

And climbed the folding hills,

Past the full springs that bubbled and flowed

Through the soft valley and on to Avon stream.

They passed — as all things pass and seem

No other than a dream,

All but the shining and the echo gone.

But still I listened and looked. Their voice it was

Blown through the valley grass;

Their dust it was that sprang from the hard road

Where now these English legions flowed,

Waking the quiet like a steady wind.

That ancient soldiery before me passed

With all that followed them, and these the last

Of my own generation, my own mind;

Their strength and courage rooted deep in the earth

That brings men to such splendid birth

And no vain sacrifice...

It was as when the land all darkness lies,

And shades, nor only shades, move freely out

And through the trees are heard and all about

Their ancient ways,‘ neath the old stars and skies.

So now in morning's light I knew them there

Leading the men that marched and marched away,

And mounted up the hill, and down the hill

Passed from my eyes and ears, and left the air

Trembling everywhere,

And then how still!