"Ruin seize thee, ruthless king!
Confusion on thy banners wait!
Tho' fann'd by conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state.
Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,
Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears."
Collins thus describes the passion of anger:
"Next Anger rush'd;—his eyes on fire,