That seem’d to hover round, and gulphs of fire
Opening beneath his feet. At times the groan
Of some poor fugitive, who, bearing with him
His mortal hurt, had fallen beside the way,
Roused him from these dread visions, and he call’d
In answering groans on his Redeemer’s name,
That word the only prayer that pass’d his lips
Or rose within his heart. Then would he see
The Cross whereon a bleeding Saviour hung,
Who call’d on him to come and cleanse his soul