The one-eyed chief urged his Getulian beast!
But what ensued? Illusive glory, say:
Subdued on Zama’s memorable day,
He flies in exile to a petty state,
With headlong haste, and at a despot’s gate
Sits, mighty suppliant—of his life in doubt,
Till the Bithynian’s morning nap be out.
Nor swords, nor spears, nor stones from engines hurled,
Shall quell the man whose frowns alarmed the world.
The vengeance due to Cannæ’s fatal field,