Cheering the exile’s home; and as they sped,
Earth rumbled under their far-thundering tread.
XXXIV.
The forest branches, woven overhead,
Shut out the day and cast a twilight gloom;—
For where long since extends the verdant mead,
Shines the fair palace, beauteous gardens bloom,
One vault of green o’er-roofed a palisade
Of trunks and brambles, boscage, brake and broom;—
Amid which chafed the warriors’ surly mood,