98
The ART of
B. III.
Heav'n heard them not. Of every hope depriv'd;
Fatigu'd with vain resources; and subdued
610With woes resistless and enfeebling fear;
Passive they sunk beneath the weighty blow.
Nothing but lamentable sounds was heard,
Nor ought was seen but ghastly views of death;
Infectious horror ran from face to face,
615And pale despair.'Twas all the business then
To tend the sick, and in their turns to die.
In heaps they fell: And oft one bed, they say.
The sickening, dying, and the dead contain'd.
Ye guardian Gods, on whom the Fates depend
620Of tottering Albion! Ye eternal fires,
That lead thro' heav'n the wandering year! Ye powers,
That o'er th' incircling elements preside
May nothing worse than what this age has seen
Arrive!
