XXXI.

Up climbs a multitude of strenuous men, Who thick as forest-leaves autumnal fall, So keen for entrance to the lion’s den, Not death at every footstep can appal! Sore doth that storm of fire their valour gall, And slowly with reluctant pride they sink, Till stubborn planted on the lower wall They stand beneath the fiery torrent’s brink, While ever and anon their chain doth lose a link.