Mid shrieks and torrent-hooves; but these,

Inebriate of his inevitable device,

Hail it their hero's wood of lustrous laurel-trees,

Blossom and fruit of fresh Hesperides,

The boiling life-blood in their cheers.

Unequalled since the world was man they pour

A spiky girdle round her; these, her sons,

His cataracts at smooth holiday, soon to roar