O'erflow the shores, or sap the solid ground;
Not, though the lamps of heaven their spheres forsake,
Hurled down, and hissing in the nether lake:
Even as this royal sceptre" (for he bore
A sceptre in his hand) "shall never more
Shoot out in branches, or renew the birth—
An orphan now, cut from the mother earth
By the keen axe, dishonoured of its hair,
And cased in brass, for Latian kings to bear."
When thus in public view the peace was tied