XXXIV.

Pyrene’s won! Upon the tallest crest Did Nial, Morton mark with fond embrace The crowning victory. Why together rest Their eyes, the mist now melted, on that place Beneath? Ye Powers! It is great Arthur’s face. The flying French have eyed him too where o’er His mountain charts, and plans of war the base, With escort small intently he doth pore, And none suspects the prize the foemen swift explore.