With groans the Latins rend the vaulted sky:
Woods, hills, and valleys, to the voice reply.
}
{ Now low on earth the lofty chief is laid,
{ With eyes cast upwards, and with arms displayed,
{ And, recreant, thus to the proud victor prayed:—
"I know my death deserved, nor hope to live:
Use what the gods and thy good fortune give.
Yet think, oh! think, if mercy may be shown,
(Thou hadst a father once, and hast a son,)