With battle-sounds;[221] the winds in sighs expire,
And quiet broods in mists that veil the sunbeam’s fire.
LXXIX.
The city sleeps! Ay! on the combat’s eve,
And by the scaffold’s brink, and midst the swell
Of angry seas, hath Nature won reprieve
Thus from her cares. The brave have slumber’d well,
And e’en the fearful, in their dungeon cell,
Chain’d between life and death. Such rest be thine,
For conflicts wait thee still!—yet who can tell,