V.
Far o’er the plain, and to the shores
Of Teio and Alberche, roars
The tumult of the fight;
The distant camps, alarmed, arise;
And throbbing hearts, and straining eyes
Watch, through the dull and vapoury skies,
The portents of the night—
The vollying peals, terrific cries,
And gleams of lurid light—
But all is indistinct:—in vain
The anxious crowds their senses strain,
And, in the flash or shout,
Fancy they catch the signal plain
Of victory or rout:—
The signal dies away again,
And the still, breathless crowds remain
In darkness and in doubt.