The omen, seen with keen delight,
Inspires new vigour for the fight.
As, on some mountain's shaggy crest
A rock, for ages fixed to rest,
(Which there, a silent moral, long hath stood
Firm 'mid the changeful honours of the wood)
Now, loosened from its pinnacle.
With horrid rumour fills each dell;—
Slow creeping first, with sluggish course,
Each bound augments its hurrying force;
And now, alternate, hurled on high.
It seeks communion with the sky;
Now plunging downward, ploughs the earth,
Goring the womb that gave it birth;
Limbs, scattered wide, its track adorn
Strewn 'neath their parents' stems forlorn.
Sad relics! witness bearing long
Themselves how weak, their foe how strong,
Who rolls, remorseless, on his way
While frighted echo shrieks dismay—
So, now, the friends impetuous still,
Rebuffed, not daunted in their will,
Rush on, their vengeance to fulfil.
