His lightnings; many a one he slew:
Here towns and villages became
A prey to th’ all-devouring flame;
A forest there of oak-trees fum’d,
Down to their very roots consum’d.
The children scream’d; the mothers tore
Their hair; Thor foam’d like angry boar:
And he, who whilom lov’d to save,
Prov’d unrelenting as the grave.
But when at length shone forth the day,