The bloody thirst which in thy heart they slake;
Thy proud patricians, hunted down, survey
The herds they kept most busy with the prey.
These are the flocks they fostered from their foes,
And these are first to drink the blood that flows.
Wondrous the arts of vengeance, to inspire
The maddened son to prey upon the sire!
Wondrous the skill that fierce plebeian wields
To make this last the bloodiest of his fields.
Vain all thy prayer and struggle—thou art down,