It is resolved—they march—consenting Night

Guides with her star their dim and torchless flight;

Already they perceive its tranquil beam

Sleep on the surface of the barrier stream;

Already they descry—Is yon the bank?

Away! 'tis lined with many a hostile rank. 970

Return or fly!—What glitters in the rear?

'Tis Otho's banner—the pursuer's spear!

Are those the shepherds' fires upon the height?

Alas! they blaze too widely for the flight:

Cut off from hope, and compassed in the toil,

Less blood perchance hath bought a richer spoil!