Whither, whither, reckless Romans,
Are you rushing, sword in hand?
Has not yet the blood of brothers,
Fully stained the sea and land?
Not that raging conflagration
Should o-er fallen Carthage play;
Not that the unconquered Briton
Should descend the sacred way.
"Rome," exclaims the joyful Parthian,
"Ruin for herself prepares;
Wolves with wolves are never savage,
Lion lion never tears."
Is this fury? is it madness?
Speedy answer I demand;
Foolish, blinded, guilty Romans,
Silent, stupefied you stand. [590]
Thus -tis fated, blood of brothers
Must atone for brothers- guilt,
Since the blood of injured Remus
Romulus in anger spilt.
Horace, Seventh Epode
James Clerk Maxwell
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Poem topics: anger, sea, play, answer, silent, foolish, stand, joyful, savage, guilty, fallen, demand, sword, never, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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