No wishful child more joyfully, 'mid all The flowers of spring-tide, yellow, blue, and red, Finds itself, nor at concert or at ball Dame beauteous and adorned, than 'mid the tread Of warlike steeds, and din of arms, and fall Of darts, and push of spears. -- where blood is shed, And death is dealt, in the tumultuous throng,-- SHE finds herself beyond all credence strong.