Chapter 39 No.39

The Southern sky was dun with cloud;

And looming lurid o'er its edge

The brows of awful forms were bowed,

That forged in flame the fateful wedge

Which waited in the angry shroud

The banner of the storm unfurled,

And all the powers of death arrayed

In black battalions, to be hurled

Down through the rack-a blazing blade-

To