Already might'st thou hear how loudly ring The hubbub and the din, from neighbouring farms, Outcry and horn, and rustic trumpeting;
And faster sound of bells; with various arms By thousands, with spontoon, bow, spit, and sling.
Lo! from the hills the rough militia swarms.
As many peasants from the vale below, To make rude war upon the madman go, IX
As beats the wave upon the salt-sea shore, Sportive at first, which southern wind has stirred, When the next, bigger than what went before, And bigger than the second, breaks the third;
And the vext water waxes evermore, And louder on the beach the surf is heard:
The crowd, increasing so, the count assail, And drop from mountain and ascend from dale.