Chapter XVIII

And now hoarse murmurs reach our Founder’s ear,
Rising behind a cape from crowds unseen;
Then by the eastern marge they swiftly steer,
Till shows a tufted isle its welcome screen;
Veering to this, they gain a prospect near
Of the red hosts that throng the opposing green;--
Hundreds on hundreds did the fires surround,
Ran on the shores or verdant banks embrowned.