The Hostile Army just below them lie.
‘O bless my heart!’ said John, ‘what lots of Foes,
‘They’re scattered all about as thick as Crows.’
He view’d them with a keen, astonish’d eye,
Felt rather queer to find they were so nigh.
But snugly kept his thoughts within his breast,
Fearful they’d turn his ignorance to jest.
Now evening closed, and cast a silent gloom;
‘Come,’ says his friend, ‘lay down, we’ll make you room:
‘Here take this Blanket, and beneath you spread,