II.

As on my couch in slumber’s arms I lay, A vision did my senses entertain; Of late, me thought in France I miss’d my way, Amid a columnless deserted plain; No man or beast upon it did remain, Swept off by Discord’s wide destroying strife: Ne planted fence, ne field of waving grain, Marking the toiling farmer’s busy life, But ruined huts and castles, brent, were wondrous rife.