LXIX.
Away—away I rush’d; but swift and high
The arrowy pillars of the firelight grew,
Till the transparent darkness of the sky
Flush’d to a blood-red mantle in their hue;
And, phantom-like, the kindling city seem’d
To spread, float, wave, as on the wind they stream’d,
With their wild splendour chasing me! I knew
The death-work was begun—I veil’d mine eyes,
Yet stopp’d in spell-bound fear to catch the victims’ cries.