XXXIV.

Thus swarm i’ the summer ray o’er parchéd ground Unnumbered emmets toiling onward straight. Vain is the wrath that slays and strews around; Unslack’d their zeal, uncheck’d their war with fate. New myriads crowd each instant, even while wait Unpitying feet to tread them into dust, Indomitable. To small thus likened great, Men swarm to the breach, and glut the gory lust Of sternest foe, yet stand, true to their country’s trust.