XVII.

Alp turned him from the sickening sight: Never had shaken his nerves in fight; 480 But he better could brook to behold the dying, Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying,[pm][359] Scorched with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain, Than the perishing dead who are past all pain.[pn][360] There is something of pride in the perilous hour, Whate'er be the shape in which Death may lower; For Fame is there to say who bleeds, And Honour's eye on daring deeds![361] But when all is past, it is humbling to tread[po] O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead,[362] 490 And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air, Beasts of the forest, all gathering there; All regarding man as their prey, All rejoicing in his decay.[pp]