'In vain,' said he, 'to rest I spread
My burning limbs, and couch'd my head:
Fantastic thoughts return'd; 390
And, by their wild dominion led,
My heart within me burn'd.
So sore was the delirious goad,
I took my steed, and forth I rode,
And, as the moon shone bright and cold, 395
Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold.
The southern entrance I pass'd through,
And halted, and my bugle blew.
Methought an answer met my ear,--
Yet was the blast so low and drear, 400
So hollow, and so faintly blown,
It might be echo of my own.