When thou, possessed with Jove,
Bore sweet Europe’s garlands on thy brow
And stole her from the green Sicilian plain.
Type of the stubborn force that will not bend
To loftier art;—soul of defiant breath
That blindly stands and battles to the end,
Nerving resistance with the throes of death —
Majestic Taurus! when thy wrathful eye
Flamed brightest, and thy hoofs a moment stayed
Their march at Night’s meridian, I was born: