XII.
Up starts the drunkard sobered by the sound,
And runs with hasty sabre to the scene;
But Blanca dropt the carbine to the ground,
Which like Camilla’s battleaxe, I ween,
The virgin bore; and like that Volscian queen,
When fiery swift her footsteps past the steed
Of Aunus’ son, she bounded o’er the green;
And, Ana’s hand in her’s, with matchless speed,
Reached the far shore, where swift her floating bark she freed.