IV.

Stern, and aloof a little from the rest, Stood Christian, with his arms across his chest. The ruddy, reckless, dauntless hue once spread Along his cheek was livid now as lead; His light-brown locks, so graceful in their flow, Now rose like startled vipers o'er his brow. 90 Still as a statue, with his lips comprest To stifle even the breath within his breast, Fast by the rock, all menacing, but mute, He stood; and, save a slight beat of his foot, Which deepened now and then the sandy dint Beneath his heel, his form seemed turned to flint. Some paces further Torquil leaned his head Against a bank, and spoke not, but he bled,-- Not mortally:--his worst wound was within; His brow was pale, his blue eyes sunken in, 100 And blood-drops, sprinkled o'er his yellow hair, Showed that his faintness came not from despair, But Nature's ebb. Beside him was another, Rough as a bear, but willing as a brother,-- Ben Bunting, who essayed to wash, and wipe, And bind his wound--then calmly lit his pipe, A trophy which survived a hundred fights, A beacon which had cheered ten thousand nights. The fourth and last of this deserted group Walked up and down--at times would stand, then stoop 110 To pick a pebble up--then let it drop-- Then hurry as in haste--then quickly stop-- Then cast his eyes on his companions--then Half whistle half a tune, and pause again-- And then his former movements would redouble, With something between carelessness and trouble. This is a long description, but applies To scarce five minutes passed before the eyes; But yet _what_ minutes! Moments like to these Rend men's lives into immortalities. 120