Relinquishing, but treasuring every law
And grace of feminine humanity,
The chosen Rustic urged a warlike steed 190
Toward the beleaguered city, in the might
Of prophecy, accoutred to fulfil,
At the sword’s point, visions conceived in love.
The cloud of rooks descending thro’ mid air
Softens its evening uproar towards a close[398] 195
Near and more near; for this protracted strain
A warning not unwelcome. Fare thee well!