XXI.

Oh glorious race, indomitably fierce! Earth’s peasant-lords, triumphant o’er each shock; No, not more vain Antæus’ self to pierce, For sprung, too, from thy soil new strength to mock Thy foes, like Afric’s giant whom enlock The arms of Hercules; or liker him, The Achaian marsh heaved upward like a rock, Whose hissing heads struck off, still heads more grim Rose terrible to tear the Invader limb from limb!