Imbolden’d now, on fresh attempts he goes, With serpent’s teeth the fertile furrows sows; The glebe fermenting, with enchanted juice, Makes the snake’s teeth a human crop produce: For, as an infant, pris’ner to the womb, Contented sleeps, till to perfection come, Then does the cell’s obscure confinement scorn, He tosses, throbs, and presses to be born, So, from the lab’ring earth, no single birth, But a whole troop of lusty youths, rush forth; And, what’s more strange, with martial fury warm’d, And for encounter all completely arm’d; In rank and file, as they were sow’d, they stand, Impatient for the signal of command. No foe but the Aemonian youth appears; At him they level their steel-pointed spears; His frighted friends, who triumph’d just before, With peals of sighs, his desperate case deplore; And where such hardy warriors are afraid, What must the tender and enamour’d maid? Her spirits sink, the blood her cheek forsook; She fears, who for his safety undertook; She knew the virtue of the spells she gave, She knew the force, and knew her lover brave: