But if to battle they have hied them forth—For oft 'twixt king and king with uproar direFierce feud arises, and at once from farYou may discern what passion sways the mob,And how their hearts are throbbing for the strife;Hark! the hoarse brazen note that warriors knowChides on the loiterers, and the ear may catchA sound that mocks the war-trump's broken blasts;Then in hot haste they muster, then flash wings,Sharpen their pointed beaks and knit their thews,And round the king, even to his royal tent,Throng rallying, and with shouts defy the foe.So, when a dry Spring and clear space is given,Forth from the gates they burst, they clash on high;A din arises; they are heaped and rolledInto one mighty mass, and headlong fall,Not denselier hail through heaven, nor pelting soRains from the shaken oak its acorn-shower.Conspicuous by their wings the chiefs themselvesPress through the heart of battle, and displayA giant's spirit in each pigmy frame,Steadfast no inch to yield till these or thoseThe victor's ponderous arm has turned to flight.Such fiery passions and such fierce assaultsA little sprinkled dust controls and quells.