When through rent clouds the Pleiads weep,So keen his force to smite, and smiteThe foe, or make his charger leapThrough the red furnace of the fight.Thus Daunia's ancient river fares,Proud Aufidus, with bull-like horn,When swoln with choler he preparesA deluge for the fields of corn.So Claudius charged and overthrewThe grim barbarian's mail-clad host,The foremost and the hindmost slew,And conquer'd all, and nothing lost.The force, the forethought, were thine own,Thine own the gods. The selfsame dayWhen, port and palace open thrown,Low at thy footstool Egypt lay,That selfsame day, three lustres gone,Another victory to thine handWas given; another field was wonBy grace of Caesar's high command.