So glides some trodden serpent on the grass,
And long behind his wounded volume trails.[147]
124.
The increasing sound is borne to either shore,
And for their stakes the throwing nations fear;
Their passions double with the cannons' roar,
And with warm wishes each man combats there.
125.
Plied thick and close as when the fight begun,
Their huge unwieldy navy wastes away: