His balmy food, the vegetative dew:
The livelong day from early dawn he pours
His voice, what time the sun’s exhaustive heat
Fierce dries the frame: ’twas in that season when
The bristly ears of millet spring with grain
Which they in summer sow: when the crude grape
Faint reddens on the vine, which Bacchus gave
The joy or anguish of the race of men;—
E’en in that season join’d the war; and vast
The battle’s tumult rose into the heaven.