IV.

Unconsciously the lowing herds resent Their change of masters, rudely by the horn Seized in the foray while trabúcos bent ’Gainst Gaulish bosoms vomit deathful scorn, With loud explosive sound on Echo borne. And innocent sheep in thousands piteous bleat ’Gainst hands that will restore them ere the Morn To the sweet fold, and oxen loud repeat Moan upon moan, by bayonet pricked or firelock beat.