XXVII.

And the winds toss’d each summit’s blazing crest, As a host’s plumage; and the giant pines, Fell’d where they waved o’er crag and eagle’s nest, Heap’d up the flames. The clouds grew fiery signs, As o’er a city’s burning towers and shrines, Reddening the distance. Wine-cups, crown’d and bright, In Werner’s dwelling flow’d; through leafless vines From Walter’s hearth stream’d forth the festive light, And Erni’s blind old sire gave thanks to heaven that night.