Deep in the dreary den, conceal’d from day, Sacred to Mars, a mighty dragon lay, Bloated with poison to a monstrous size; Fire broke in flashes when he glanced his eyes; His towering crest was glorious to behold, His shoulders and his sides were scaled with gold; Three tongues he brandish’d when he charged his foes, His teeth stood jaggy in three dreadful rows. The Tyrians in the den for water sought, And with their urns explored the hollow vault; From side to side their empty urns rebound, And rouse the sleeping serpent with the sound. Straight he bestirs him, and is seen to rise, And now with dreadful hissings fills the skies, And darts his forky tongues, and rolls his glaring eyes. The Tyrians drop their vessels in the fright, All pale and trembling at the hideous sight. Spire above spire uprear’d in air he stood, And gazing round him overlook’d the wood, Then floating on the ground in circles roll’d, Then leap’d upon them in a mighty fold. Of such a bulk and such a monstrous size The serpent in the polar circle lies,