Nor poops nor prows does Roland more descry, For all have launched their shallops, which are wide Of that dry shore; while from his level eye Their hulls the tall and shifting surges hide.
He spurs his horse amid the billows high, Wholly resolved to reach the farther side.
The courser ends his swim and life in fine, Drained of his strength, and drenched brimfull of brine.
