The cattle sport, the wild beasts hideTheir cubs, the Capitol may standAll bright, and Rome in warlike prideO'er Media stretch a conqueror's hand.Aye, let her scatter far and wideHer terror, where tbe land-lock'd wavesEurope from Afric's shore divide,Where swelling Nile the corn-field laves—Of strength more potent to disdainHid gold, best buried in the mine,Than gather it with hand profane,That for man's greed would rob a shrine.Whate'er the bound to earth ordain'd,There let her reach the arm of power,Travelling, where raves the fire unrein'd,And where the storm-cloud and the shower.Yet, warlike Roman, know thy doom,Nor, drunken with a conqueror's joy,Or blind with duteous zeal, presumeTo build again ancestral Troy.