Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 2.djvu/91

 And he, of Calatrave the sovereign knight, Girt with whole troops his arm had slain in fight, Descended murmuring to the shades of night. Blaspheming heaven, and gash'd with many a wound Brave Nunio's rebel kindred gnaw'd the ground, And curst their fate, and dy'd. Ten thousand more Who held no title and no office bore, And nameless nobles who, promiscuous fell, Appeas'd that day the foaming dog of hell. Now, low the proud Castilian standard lies Beneath the Lusian flag, a vanquish'd prize. With furious madness fired, and stern disdain, The fierce Iberians to the fight again Rush headlong; groans and yellings of despair With horrid uproar rend the trembling air. Hot boils the blood, thirst burns, and every breast Pants, every limb with fainty weight opprest Slow now obeys the will's stern ire, and slow From every sword descends the feeble blow; Till