Against us in Bœotia; these being spent,

[Pg 28]

Now this third time his wind of wrath has blown

480

Right on this people a mightier wave of war,

Three times more huge a ruin; such its ridge

Foam-rimmed and hollow like the womb of heaven,

But black for shining, and with death for life

Big now to birth and ripe with child, full-blown

With fear and fruit of havoc, takes the sun

Out of our eyes, darkening the day, and blinds

The fair sky's face unseasonably with change,

A cloud in one and billow of battle, a surge

High reared as heaven with monstrous surf of spears

490

That shake on us their shadow, till men's heads

Bend, and their hearts even with its forward wind

Wither, so blasts all seed in them of hope

Its breath and blight of presage; yea, even now

The winter of this wind out of the deeps

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