The dark-volumed dust-cloud that rides on the gale,
Though voiceless, declares a true messenger’s tale;
With clattering hoofs, on and on still they ride;[n6]
It swells on my ear, loud it rusheth and roareth,
As a fierce wintry torrent precipitous poureth,
Rapidly lashing the mountain side.
Hear me ye gods, and ye goddesses hear me!
The black harm prevent that swells near and more near me!
As a wave on the shore when the blast beats the coast,
So breaks o’er the walls, from the white-shielded host,[n7]