Or skill and prowess in the arduous fight,

Preserv'd alive: ... fainting he looks around;

Fearing pursuit, nor caring to pursue.

The supplicating voice of bitterest moans,

Contortions of excruciating pain,

The shriek of torture and the groan of death,

Surround him; and as Night her mantle spreads,

To veil the horrors of the mourning Field,

With cautious step shaping his devious way,

He seeks a covert where to hide and rest:

At every leaf that rustles in the breeze

Starting, he grasps his sword; and every nerve

Is ready strain'd, for combat or for flight.

  Thus list'ning to ward off approaching foes,

A distant whispering, fighting, murmuring sound

Salutes his ear, and to his throbbing heart

Soft tidings tells of tenderness and love.

For on that fatal day of vengeful ire.

At fearful distance following the host,

From either country came a female throng;

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