On his increasing strength presumes,
And pleas’d he shakes his alter’d plumes,
To single combat dares the foe,
And deep imprints the fatal blow.
The Kite expires,—and peace again
Reviv’d to bless Columbo’s reign.
But flush’d with conquest, proud in arms,
He longs, he pants, for fresh alarms,
And to himself elated thought—
“Had I these gifts of Jove for nought?”