Towards the great entrance. Trodden down and torn
Was every weaker form, and frantic urge
The merciless hale who fly that fiery scourge;
And heaving to and fro they cried to Heaven,
Still vainly seeking instant to emerge,
Till barriers of the sanctuary were riven,
And to the altar-front the trembling priests were driven.
XXIV.
Now onward rolls the mass, till near the door
More fiercely violent grows the maddened throng