Above the human form appear’d,
And charged forthwith a little scout
To bid Simonides come out,
That ’twas his int’rest not to stay.—
The slave, in trouble and dismay,
Roused from his seat the feasting bard,
Who scarce had stirr’d a single yard
Before the room at once fell in,
And crush’d the champion and his kin.
No youths before the door are found.—