Is there defence against this strange endeavour.
So these poor Numantines are close confined
And rooted to the spot, as if by charms;
No man can leave, no man may entrance find;
They have no fear of stormings or alarms;
But as they gaze around, before, behind,
And see no labour for their powerful arms,
With fearful accents, and ferocious breath,
They cry aloud for war, or else for death!
And since the side the spacious Douro scours,