They went forth to battle, but they always fell; br    Their eyes were fixed above the sullen shields; br Nobly they fought and bravely, but not well, br And sank heart-wounded by a subtle spell. br    They knew not fear that to the foeman yields, br    They were not weak, as one who vainly wields br A futile weapon; yet the sad scrolls tell br How on the hard-fought field they always fell. br br It was a secret music that they heard, br    A sad sweet plea for pity and for peace; br And that which pierced the heart was but a word, br Though the white breast was red-lipped where the sword br    Pressed a fierce cruel kiss, to put surcease br    On its hot thirst, but drank a hot increase. br Ah, they by some strange troubling doubt were stirred, br And died for hearing what no foeman heard. br br They went forth to battle but they always fell; br    Their might was not the might of lifted spears; br Over the battle-clamor came a spell br Of troubling music, and they fought not well. br    Their wreaths are willows and their tribute, tears; br    Their names are old sad stories in men's ears; br Yet they will scatter the red hordes of Hell, br Who went to battle forth and always fell.