Look down expectant; unto thee, from fields
Laid waste, and hamlets burnt, and cities sack’d,
The blood of infancy and helpless age
Cries out; thy native mountains call for thee,
Echoing from all their armed sons thy name.
And deem not thou that hot impatience goads
Thy countrymen to counsels immature.
Odoar and Urban from Visonia’s banks
Send me, their sworn and trusted messenger,
To summon thee, and tell thee in their name