But summons to the field the doughty foe
In single combat, ’midst th’ impartial throng,
There to decide our fate: oft too, inflam’d
With mutual rage, two rival armies meet
Of youthful warriors; kindling at the sight,
My soul is filled with vast heroic thoughts,
Trusting, in martial glory, to surpass
Roman or Grecian chief; instant, with shouts,
The mingling squadrons join the horrid fray;
No need of cannon, or the murderous steel,