The foe came on, and few remain

To strive, and those must strive in vain:

For lack of further lives, to slake

The thirst of vengeance now awake,

With barbarous blows they gash the dead, 990

And lop the already lifeless head,

And fell the statues from their niche,

And spoil the shrines of offerings rich,

And from each other's rude hands wrest

The silver vessels Saints had blessed.

To the high altar on they go;

Oh, but it made a glorious show![400]

On its table still behold

The cup of consecrated gold;

Massy and deep, a glittering prize, 1000

Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes:

That morn it held the holy wine,[qp]

Converted by Christ to his blood so divine,

Which his worshippers drank at the break of day,[qq]

To shrive their souls ere they joined in the fray.

Still a few drops within it lay;

And round the sacred table glow

Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row,

From the purest metal cast;

A spoil—the richest, and the last. 1010