That shadow’d o’er their road.
Their vaward[351] scouts no tidings bring,
Can rouse no lurking foe,
Nor spy a trace of living thing,
Save when they stirr’d the roe;
The host moves like a deep-sea wave,
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,
High swelling, dark, and slow.
The lake is pass’d, and now they gain
A narrow and a broken plain,