His valour onward. In the last attack
He rode before us as the crested wave
That heads the flood; and lo, our enemies
Were broken like a dam of river-reeds,
Burst by the torrent, scattered, swept away!
But look! the Assyrian king in wavering flight
Is lodged like driftwood on a little hill,
Encircled by his guard, and stands at bay.
Then Naaman, followed hotly by a score
Of whirlwind riders, hammers through the hedge
Of spearmen, brandishing the golden yoke:
"Take back this gift," he cries; and shatters it
On Shalmaneser's helmet. So the fight
Dissolves in universal rout: the king,
His chariots and his horsemen melt away;
Our captain stands the master of the field,
And saviour of Damascus! Now he brings,
First to the king, report of this great triumph.

[_Shouts of joy and applause._]

RUAHMAH: [_Coming close to SABALLIDIN,_]
But what of him who won it? Fares he well?
My mistress would receive some word of him.

SABALLIDIN:
Hath she not heard?

RUAHMAH:
But one brief message came: