So, flush'd with wine, and clad in raiment white
Above their mail, the young men follow'd him,
Their guide a fading camp-fire in the night,
And the sea's moaning in the distance dim.
And still with eddying snow the air did swim,
And darkly did they wend they knew not where,
White in that cursed night: an army grim,
'Wilder'd with wine, and blind with whirling air.
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