LXXXI.

If not in poetry, at least in fact; And fact is Truth, the grand desideratum! Of which, howe'er the Muse describes each act, There should be ne'ertheless a slight substratum. But now the town is going to be attacked; Great deeds are doing--how shall I relate 'em? Souls of immortal Generals! Phoebus watches To colour up his rays from your despatches.[hx]