When the dams burst, and winter drowns the fields.
On came the fierce Lieutenant, and behind
Thundered a motley rabble, whose lean steeds
Could ill sustain that violent career,
And soon there were not left who followed him
Five hundred horsemen; still the chase was hot;—
Hot was the chase, and long—o’er scorched sands,
And open cornfields, till the spent pursuers
Began to drop behind;—some, rolled on earth,
Saw their girths broken, or their horses slain.