The Island Of The Scots

I.

The Rhine is running deep and red, The island lies before-- "Now is there one of all the host Will dare to venture o'er? For not alone the river's sweep Might make a brave man quail: The foe are on the further side, Their shot comes fast as hail. God help us, if the middle isle We may not hope to win! Now, is there any of the host Will dare to venture in?"

II.

"The ford is deep, the banks are steep, The island-shore lies wide: Nor man nor horse could stem its force, Or reach the further side. See there! amidst the willow boughs The serried bayonets gleam; They've flung their bridge--they've won the isle; The foe have crossed the stream! Their volley flashes sharp and strong-- By all the Saints, I trow, There never yet was soldier born Could force that passage now!"