Evening closed round to favour him. All night He fled, the sound of battle in his ear Ringing, and sights of death before his eyes, With forms more horrible of eager fiends That seem’d to hover round, and gulphs of fire Opening beneath his feet. At times the groan Of some poor fugitive, who, bearing with him His mortal hurt, had fallen beside the way, Roused him from these dread visions, and he call’d In answering groans on his Redeemer’s name, That word the only prayer that pass’d his lips Or rose within his heart. Then would he see The Cross whereon a bleeding Saviour hung, Who call’d on him to come and cleanse his soul In those all-healing streams, which from his wounds, As from perpetual springs, for ever flow’d. No hart e’er panted for the water-brooks As Roderick thirsted there to drink and live: But Hell was interposed; and worse than Hell ... Yea to his eyes more dreadful than the fiends Who flock’d like hungry ravens round his head, ... Florinda stood between, and warn’d him off With her abhorrent hands, ... that agony Still in her face, which, when the deed was done, Inflicted on her ravisher the curse That it invoked from Heaven.... Oh what a night Of waking horrors! Nor when morning came Did the realities of light and day Bring aught of comfort; wheresoe’er he went The tidings of defeat had gone before; And leaving their defenceless homes to seek What shelter walls and battlements might yield, Old men with feeble feet, and tottering babes, And widows with their infants in their arms, Hurried along. Nor royal festival, Nor sacred pageant, with like multitudes E’er fill’d the public way. All whom the sword Had spared were here; bed-rid infirmity Alone was left behind; the cripple plied His crutches, with her child of yesterday The mother fled, and she whose hour was come Fell by the road. Less dreadful than this view Of outward suffering which the day disclosed, Had night and darkness seem’d to Roderick’s heart, With all their dread creations. From the throng He turn’d aside, unable to endure This burthen of the general woe; nor walls, Nor towers, nor mountain fastnesses he sought, A firmer hold his spirit yearn’d to find, A rock of surer strength. Unknowing where, Straight through the wild he hasten’d on all day And with unslacken’d speed was travelling still When evening gather’d round. Seven days from morn Till night he travell’d thus; the forest oaks, The fig-grove by the fearful husbandman Forsaken to the spoiler, and the vines, Where fox and household dog together now Fed on the vintage, gave him food; the hand Of Heaven was on him, and the agony Which wrought within, supplied a strength beyond All natural force of man. When the eighth eve Was come, he found himself on Ana’s banks, Fast by the Caulian Schools. It was the hour