XXIX.
But a lance met me in that day’s career—
Senseless I lay amidst the o’ersweeping fight;
Wakening at last, how full, how strangely clear,
That scene on memory flash’d!—the shivery light,
Moonlight, on broken shields—the plain of slaughter,
The fountain-side, the low sweet sound of water—
And Alvar bending o’er me—from the night
Covering me with his mantle. All the past
Flow’d back; my soul’s far chords all answer’d to the blast.