Page:Orion, an epic poem - Horne (1843, 3rd edition).djvu/91

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Canto III.]
Orion.
85
A rumbling sound is gathering in the breeze,
And nearer swells—now dies away—like wheels
That pass from stony ground to grassy plains.
Again!—it rings and jars—and passing swift
Along the cliffs, till lost in a ravine,
Five brazen chariots fling the sunset rays
Angrily back upon the startled air!
In one, the last, struggles a lovely form,
Half pinioned by a chieftain's broidered scarf,
Her wild black tresses coiling round one arm
Which still she raises, striving to make a sign.
All disappeared. No voice, no sound was heard.
The moon arose—and still Orion slept.

Forth from a dark chasm issue figures armed.
Close conference they hold, like ravens met
For ominous talk of death. No more: their shields,
Plumed helms, and swords, two chieftains lay aside,
Then stoop, and softly creep tow'rds him who sleeps;
While o'er their heads the long protecting spears
Are held by seven, who noiselessly and slow
Follow their stealthy progress. Step by step
The deadly crescent moves behind the twain,
Who, flat as reptiles, and with face thrust out,