Her ground to Hannibal she scarcely held;
Italian blood of Trevia the sands,
And wavy Thrasymenus deeply dyed,
And Roman matrons the victorious bands
Of Cannæ nigh approaching them descried,
As some portentous comet fearful lower.
Who drove them thence? Who from the Capitol
Turn’d on the throne, that founded Dido’s power,
The clouds that threaten’d then o’er them to roll?
Who in the fields of Zama, from the yoke