Of the high castle where his dwelling was,
He looked through fretted arches to the plain,
And saw their tents dropped white and countless there,
Like sheep without a shepherd—like poor sheep
Marked for the slaughter—and he pitied them.
Ere long, the dying despot of the day
Sank softly down, drowned in a sea of blood—
Like the old Roman Wolf in Capreæ.
Michael prepared for action: dark night fell,
The tents were lost to sight, the shouting sank,