As the spring-tides, with heavy plash,

From the cliffs invading dash 740

Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow,

Till white and thundering down they go,

Like the avalanche's snow

On the Alpine vales below;

Thus at length, outbreathed and worn,

Corinth's sons were downward borne

By the long and oft renewed

Charge of the Moslem multitude.

In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell,

Heaped by the host of the Infidel, 750

Hand to hand, and foot to foot:

Nothing there, save Death, was mute;[385]

Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry

For quarter, or for victory,

Mingle there with the volleying thunder,

Which makes the distant cities wonder

How the sounding battle goes,

If with them, or for their foes;

If they must mourn, or may rejoice

In that annihilating voice, 760

Which pierces the deep hills through and through

With an echo dread and new:

You might have heard it, on that day,

O'er Salamis and Megara;

(We have heard the hearers say,)[qf]

Even unto Piræus' bay.