Georgics
Virgil
Vergil. The Poems of Vergil. Rhoades, James, translator. London: Oxford University Press, 1921.
- But if to battle they have hied them forth—
- For oft 'twixt king and king with uproar dire
- Fierce feud arises, and at once from far
- You may discern what passion sways the mob,
- And how their hearts are throbbing for the strife;
- Hark! the hoarse brazen note that warriors know
- Chides on the loiterers, and the ear may catch
- A 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 rolled
- Into one mighty mass, and headlong fall,
- Not denselier hail through heaven, nor pelting so
- Rains from the shaken oak its acorn-shower.
- Conspicuous by their wings the chiefs themselves
- Press through the heart of battle, and display
- A giant's spirit in each pigmy frame,
- Steadfast no inch to yield till these or those
- The victor's ponderous arm has turned to flight.
- Such fiery passions and such fierce assaults
- A little sprinkled dust controls and quells.