Then, gathering round him zealous knights and true, He vow'd far vengeance on the rebel throng. The harp of David wrought in him anew— The Anoint of God his hand should not bewrong. Let not proud Anger futile griefs review, For so the weak untimely woes prolong. His spirit bad him breast the surly seas, Nor bend to Fate's untowardly decrees. |