Far off, in no wise over far,

Beneath a heaven all amorous of its first-born star.

40.

What sound, what storm and splendour of what fire,

Darkening the light of heaven, lightening the night,

Rings, rages, flashes round what ravening pyre

That makes time's face pale with its reflex light

And leaves on earth, who seeing might scarce respire,

A shadow of red remembrance? Right nor might

Alternating wore ever shapes more dire

Nor manifest in all men's awful sight

In form and face that wore

Heaven's light and likeness more

Than these, or held suspense men's hearts at height

More fearful, since man first

Slaked with man's blood his thirst,

Than when Rome clashed with Hannibal in fight,

Till tower on ruining tower was hurled

Where Scipio stood, and Carthage was not in the world.

41.

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