A voice whose thunders, though unuttered, fly
From the red lightnings of the deep-set eye;
There passion speaks of hate that cannot spare,
Still tearing those who taught him how to tear;
One dream alone delighting his desire —
The dream that finds the fuel for his fire;
Let fancy shape the language for his mood,
And speak the purpose burning in his blood.
——
Marius. “If thou hadst ears, O Carthage! for the voice