XLVI.

No aid!—thou too didst pass!—and all had pass’d,

The fearful—and the desperate—and the strong!

Some like the bark that rushes with the blast,

Some like the leaf swept shiveringly along;

And some as men that have but one more field

To fight, and then may slumber on their shield,—

Therefore they arm in hope. But now the throng

Roll’d on, and bore me with their living tide,

Even as a bark wherein is left no power to guide.