Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 2.djvu/54

With piercing shrieks the Moors their prophet's name,
And ours their guardian saint aloud acclaim.
Wounds gush on wounds, and blows resound to blows
A lake of blood the level plain o'erflows;
The wounded gasping in the purple tide,
Now find the death the sword but half supplied.
Though wove and quilted by their ladies' hands,
Vain were the mail-plates of Granada's bands.
With such dread force the Lusian rush'd along,
Steep'd in red carnage lay the boastful throng.
Yet now disdainful of so light a prize,
Fierce o'er the field the thundering hero flies,
And his bold arm the brave Castilian joins
In dreadful conflict with the Moorish lines.

The parting sun now pour'd the ruddy blaze,
And twinkling Vesper shot his silvery rays
Athwart the gloom, and closed the glorious day,
When low in dust the strength of Afric lay.

Such