XLVI.

No aid!--thou too didst pass!--and all had pass’d, The fearful--and the desperate--and the strong! Some like the bark that rushes with the blast, Some like the leaf swept shiveringly along; And some as men that have but one more field To fight, and then may slumber on their shield,-- Therefore they arm in hope. But now the throng Roll’d on, and bore me with their living tide, Even as a bark wherein is left no power to guide.