BOOK THE EIGHTH.
297
The strongest forts are ours, and who remain, 675
Saved from our swords awhile, in heart subdued,
Will yield an easy conquest; rest we now
Our wearied soldiers, for the night draws on."
Saved from our swords awhile, in heart subdued,
Will yield an easy conquest; rest we now
Our wearied soldiers, for the night draws on."
She said, and joyful of their finish'd toil
The host retire. Hush'd is the field of fight, 680
And silent as the deep, but late uptorn
By vernal tempests, when the storm is past
And o'er the gently-swelling surface, sleeps
The unruffling wind.
Meantime the English troops
Now loud in terror, clamour'd for retreat, 685
Deeming that, aided by the powers of Heaven,
The Maid went forth to conquer. One more bold,
Learning reflection in the hour of ill,
Exclaimed, "I marvel not that the Most High
Hath hid his face from England! Wherefore thus 690
Quitting the comforts of domestic life,
Swarm we to desolate this goodly land,
The host retire. Hush'd is the field of fight, 680
And silent as the deep, but late uptorn
By vernal tempests, when the storm is past
And o'er the gently-swelling surface, sleeps
The unruffling wind.
Meantime the English troops
Now loud in terror, clamour'd for retreat, 685
Deeming that, aided by the powers of Heaven,
The Maid went forth to conquer. One more bold,
Learning reflection in the hour of ill,
Exclaimed, "I marvel not that the Most High
Hath hid his face from England! Wherefore thus 690
Quitting the comforts of domestic life,
Swarm we to desolate this goodly land,
"Making
