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54
VISION OF THE HEROES OF POLAND.
Dripping yet with river dewPoniatowski stalks in view,Emerging into heaven's lightFrom the whelming billow's night.
A giant form its bulk uprears,Sobieski's self appears,With sword all scabbardless advancingOn the courser wildly prancing.
And where the massive clouds soar higher,Girt with quivering tongues of fireGleams a throne—and there is seenA Shape of high imperial mien.
Gazing on the martial swarms,With little hat and folded armsThere He stands, sublime alone,From that dark height looking on.
Thunderstorms beneath are tossing,Lightnings wildly intercrossing,The advent of the tempest tellingNearer still, and nearer swelling.
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