The Funeral, VII

Meanwhile a host upon the shore Await the embassy’s return; But when the herald struck his oar, Their souls for vengeance burn: While gathering far, on Aldham’s height, The rival parishes advance; Now mingle in the deadly fight— And hurl the sounding lance. When forward rush’d an aged man, So venerable in years, That silence through the warriors ran, And nerveless fell their spears;— And thus, the Priest of Garmilton Loud spake, while from his eyes there shone Radiance, like lightning from a cloud, Which backward awed the dusky crowd:— “O mock not the decree of Heaven, “In angry strife, to madness driven! “But let the calm of peace prevail, “Till supernatural powers be given “To bless your deep excess of zeal.”