Whilst I in ambush wait for vengeance, and the foe!”
XIX.
Scarce had he uttered—when Heaven’s verge extreme
Reverberates the bomb’s descending star,—
And sounds that mingled laugh,—and shout,—and scream,—
To freeze the blood, in one discordant jar,
Rung to the pealing thunderbolts of war.
Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assailed;
As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar;
While rapidly the marksman’s shot prevailed:—