Blown over a blood-bestained vest,
A tawny beard, sweeping his chest,
Reaches down to the clasp of his girth.
At his footsteps the earth
Shrinks back in affright;
Cloud -vultures of night
Flap their pestilent pinions in flight
Closely after.
A blue gleam, then a clang:
Whence the shaking scales hang,
As shield follows helmet, and helmet the brand,
Backpiece, breastplate, and greaves;
Last, the mighty spear leaves
His knotted right hand—
But the scale only quivers up under the rafter.
As day dissolves night when it steals up the sky,
As night disappears in the distance to die,
See a form in bright garments approach like a ray
Falling down from the sun, and war-clouds melt away:
Broad brow; scanty locks o'er a thin, pallid face;
