LXXXII.
They fail not now, the generous band, that long
Have rang'd their swords around a falling throne;
Still in those fearless men the walls are strong,
Hearts, such as rescue empires, are their own!
—Shall those high energies be vainly shown?
No! from their towers th' invading tide is driven
Back, like the Red-sea waves, when God had blown
With his strong winds18[1]!—the dark-brow'd ranks are riven—
LXXXIII.
Stand firm!—Again the crescent host is rushing,
And the waves foam, as on the galleys sweep,
With all their fires and darts, tho' blood is gushing
Fast o'er their sides, as rivers to the deep.
Stand firm!—there yet is hope—th' ascent is steep,
And from on high no shaft descends in vain;
—But those that fall swell up the mangled heap,
In the red moat, the dying and the slain,
