11
"Stop, stop!" they shout, with one accord; "Bokians! your wicked work forbear;Swift to your cruel, bloody king,Again ascend on hasty wing, Or dread to meet us here!"
"What! here again, our ancient foes!" Their sable chieftain, Obin, cried;"How dare ye still to thwart our way,And rob us of our lawful prey?— Your vengeance is defied!"
Sudden, with wild, determin'd air, Each warrior grasp'd his well-tried bow;And while their deadly arrows fly,Mad frenzy lights each gleaming eye, And scowls on ev'ry brow.
The frighted Nereids drop their shells, Rush to their sea-caves, shrieking loud,And tremble in their native streams,While Cynthia veils her sick'ning beams Behind a sable cloud.
And wilder still the battle rag'd;— The burn ran red with Fairy gore,And many a gasping Bokian lay,The life-blood ebbing fast away, Upon that fatal shore.
