His ever steady onward pace alone
Told that from home he lengthened yet his way,
While the same forms—the same drear hollow moan,
Seemed ever round him lingering to stay,
And every step of progress to disown;
As with all sail the bark may breast the tide,
Nor yet advance, but rather backward glide.
XXXIX.
Above his head the branches writhe and bend,
Or in the mingled wreck their ruin flies;