The track of thy destroying bark.
No more Campania's[55] hinds[56] shall fly
To woods and caverns when they spy
Thy thrice accursed sail."


XLI

But now no sound of laughter 340
Was heard among the foes.
A wild and wrathful clamor
From all the vanguard rose.
Six spears' lengths from the entrance
Halted that deep array, 345
And for a space no man came forth
To win the narrow way.


XLII

But hark! the cry is Astur:
And lo! the ranks divide;
And the great Lord of Luna
Comes with his stately stride. 350
Upon his ample shoulders
Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
And in his hand he shakes the brand
Which none but he can wield. 355