Whenas yearning to mate his might wi' the furious monster
Theseus braved his death or sought the prizes of praises.
Then of her gifts to gods not ingrate, nor profiting naught,
Promise with silent lip, addressed she timidly vowing.
105
For as an oak that shakes on topmost summit of Taurus
Its boughs, or cone-growing pine from bole bark resin exuding,
Whirlwind of passing might that twists the stems with its storm-blasts,
Uproots, deracinates, forthright its trunk to the farthest,
Prone falls, shattering wide what lies in line of its downfall,—