And by whose fault that with untimely haste
They were entangled in the desert waste;
Wherein they deeper day by day were led,
Still thinking that the foe before them fled:
XI.
Till when the scorching heat of Afric’s sun,
With alternating dews of chilly night,
And pain and travail had their office done,
And theirs already was an evil plight,
A dawning morning showed them every height