XII.

Up starts the drunkard sobered by the sound, And runs with hasty sabre to the scene; But Blanca dropt the carbine to the ground, Which like Camilla’s battleaxe, I ween, The virgin bore; and like that Volscian queen, When fiery swift her footsteps past the steed Of Aunus’ son, she bounded o’er the green; And, Ana’s hand in her’s, with matchless speed, Reached the far shore, where swift her floating bark she freed.