I. Red Glows The Forge In Striguil'S Bounds, And Hammers Din, And Anvil Sounds, And Armourers, With Iron Toil, Barb Many A Steed For Battle'S Broil, Foul Fall The Hand Which Bends The Steel Around The Courser'S Thundering Heel, That E'Er Shall Dint A Sable Wound On Fair Glamorgan'S Velvet Ground! Ii. From Chepstow'S Towers, Ere Dawn Of Morn, Was Heard Afar The Bugle-Horn; And Forth, In Banded Pomp And Pride, Stout Clare And Fiery Neville Ride, They Swore, Their Banners Broad Should Gleam, In Crimson Light, On Rymny'S Stream; They Vowed, Caerphili'S Sod Should Feel The Norman Charger'S Spurning Heel. Iii. And Sooth They Swore, The Sun Arose, And Rymny'S Wave With Crimson Glows; For Clare'S Red Banner, Floating Wide, Roll'D Down The Stream To Severn'S Tide! And Sooth They Vow'D, The Trampled Green SHow'd Where Hot Neville'S Charge Had Been: In Every Sable Hoof-Tramp Stood A Norman Horseman'S Curdling Blood! Iv. Old Chepstow'S Brides May Curse The Toil, That Arm'D Stout Clare For Cambrian Broil; Their Orphans Long The Art May Rue, For Neville'S War-Horse Forged The Shoe. No More The Stamp Of Armed Steed Shall Dint Glamorgan'S Velvet Mead; Nor Trace Be There, In Early Spring, Save Of The Fairies' Emerald Ring.