Franklin

No drum-beat nerved them to the fight; They heard no bugle blare: No sword or lance-point glittered bright, No standard floated there; Only the streaming Northern Light Shook, high in air. They had no hope of victory Against their unseen foe; They had no hope of fame to be That they might live to know: Nothing before them could they see But frost and floe. They died; in death was not foregone The old high English pride: They died: till many a year was done They slumbered side by side, To show the folk who follow on How brave men died.