He springs to fight, exulting in his force;
His jointed armour rattles in the course.
Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows,
Or father Apennine, when, white with snows,
His head divine obscure in clouds he hides,
And shakes the sounding forest on his sides.
The nations, overawed, surcease the fight;
Immoveable their bodies, fixed their sight.
Even death stands still; nor from above they throw
Their darts, nor drive their battering-rams below.