XXIII.

Then rushed the crowd, by instinct furious borne Of life preserving, like the Ocean surge Towards the great entrance. Trodden down and torn Was every weaker form, and frantic urge The merciless hale who fly that fiery scourge; And heaving to and fro they cried to Heaven, Still vainly seeking instant to emerge, Till barriers of the sanctuary were riven, And to the altar-front the trembling priests were driven.