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.