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ields, Than Art in galleries: though a work divine Calls for my Spirit's homage, yet it yields Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields LXII. Is of another temper, and I roam By Thrasimene's lake,[445] in the defiles Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home; For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles Come back before me, as his skill beguiles The host between the mountains and the shore, Where Courage falls in her despairing files,[na] And torrents, swoll'n to rivers with their gore, Reek through the sultry plain, with legions scattered o'er. LXIII. Like to a forest felled by mountain winds; And such the storm of battle on this day, And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds To all save Carnage, that, beneath the fray, An Earthquake[446] reeled unheededly away![23.H.] None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, And yawning forth a grave for those who lay Upon their bucklers for a winding sheet-- Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet! LXIV. The Earth to them was as a rolling bark Which bore them to Eternity--they saw The Ocean round, but had no time to mark The motions of their vessel; Nature's law, In them suspended, recked not of the awe Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and withdraw[nb] From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing herds Stumble o'er heaving plains--and Man's dread hath no words. LXV. Far other scene is Thrasimene now; Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough; Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain Lay where their roots are; but a brook hath ta'en-- A little rill of scanty stream and bed-- A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain; And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead Made the earth wet, and turned the unwilling waters red.[nc] LXVI. But thou, Clitumnus[447]! in thy sweetest wave Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river-Nymph, to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer[44
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