By mount and fort they thread to swamp the sluggard plains.

Shines his gold-laurel sun, or cloak connivent rains.

They press to where the hosts in line and square throng mute;

He watchful of their form, the Audacious, the Astute;

Eagle to grip the field; to work his craftiest, fox.

From his brief signal, straight the stroke of the leveller falls;

From him those opal puffs, those arcs with the clouded balls:

He waves and the voluble scene is a quagmire shifting blocks;