But still they hung there moveless, until one, Seeming the spokesman of his fellows, said: "No mutineers, no traitors, cravens none, Are we. But look around, and judge what means This concourse of beholders"--"'Look around'? _Around_ look?" thundered Saul. "Nay, straight-on looks, These sole, become stout hearts, staunch wills. 'Around' Cease looking ye, and all right forward stare To where yon door fronts you and you affronts. Batter it down, and, staring forward, on!" The vehement, vindictive, dense onslaught Of that impatient, proud, imperious will Smote like the missile of a catapult Against the clamped immovable dead wall Of fixed inert resistance to Saul's wish, Which strangely, as one man, those men opposed. That impact did not shake that stubborn strength, Nor shiver back in staggering recoil-- Absorbed, annulled, annihilated, waste! One infinitesimal instant, Saul a blind Mad impulse felt--which, that same instant, he Quenched in a simultaneous saner thought-- To rush single upon the door, with blank Ridiculous demonstration of balked will Indignant. "Me, then, seize, your chief contemned," Said Saul, "contemned, since not obeyed, and me Deliver captive to the Sanhedrim, Denounced unworthy of your trust, and theirs!" As, saying this, around he glanced, he saw, With unintending eyes, a spectacle Which well had awed him, but that he was Saul. The frequence of spectators serried nigh Had armed themselves with stones, and imminent stood, A thunder-cloud of menace on each brow, Ready those bolts of vengeance to let fly, In hail-storm that no mortal might withstand, At whoso dared defy their angry mood; Portent so dire Saul could not but peruse. "It was but question which should overawe, Ye, or this rabble of sedition here, And ye have solved it like the cowards ye are!" So, with his passion humored to its height, And javelin looks shot at his men in shower, Cried Saul; "I had deemed otherwise of you. And yet, even yet, once wake the dormant man Within you, and, from hands through fear relaxed, Harmless will drop those miscreant stones which now, With your poltroonery, ye invoke to fall In well-deservéd doom upon your heads!"