Then in the night a trumpet; and the dull
Close thud of horse and clash of spurs and arms;
And glimmering helms swept by me.--Sorrowful
I stood and waited till against the storm's
Black breast, the Manse,--a burning carbuncle,--
Blazed like a battle-beacon, and alarms
Of onslaught clanged around it.--Then, like one,
Who bears with him God's curse, I galloped on.