But in the dome of mighty Mars the red With different figures all the sides were spread; This temple, less in form, with equal grace, Was imitative of the first in Thrace; For that cold region was the loved abode And sovereign mansion of the warrior god. The landscape was a forest wide and bare, Where neither beast nor human kind repair, The fowl that scent afar the borders fly, And shun the bitter blast, and wheel about the sky. A cake of scurf lies baking on the ground, And prickly stubs, instead of trees, are found; Or woods with knots and knares deformed and old, Headless the most, and hideous to behold; A rattling tempest through the branches went, That stripped them bare, and one sole way they bent. Heaven froze above severe, the clouds congeal, And through the crystal vault appeared the standing hail. Such was the face without: a mountain stood Threatening from high, and overlooked the wood: Beneath the lowering brow, and on a bent, The temple stood of Mars armipotent; The frame of burnished steel, that cast a glare From far, and seemed to thaw the freezing air. A straight long entry to the temple led, Blind with high walls, and horror over head; Thence issued such a blast, and hollow roar, As threatened from the hinge to heave the door; In through that door a northern light there shone; 'Twas all it had, for windows there were none. The gate was adamant; eternal frame, Which, hewed by Mars himself, from Indian quarries came, The labour of a God; and all along Tough iron plates were clenched to make it strong. A tun about was every pillar there; A polished mirror shone not half so clear. There saw I how the secret felon wrought, And treason labouring in the traitor's thought, And midwife Time the ripened plot to murder brought. There the red Anger dared the pallid Fear; Next stood Hypocrisy, with holy leer, Soft, smiling, and demurely looking down, But hid the dagger underneath the gown; The assassinating wife, the household fiend; And far the blackest there, the traitor-friend. On the other side there stood Destruction bare, Unpunished Rapine, and a waste of war; Contest with sharpened knives in cloisters drawn, And all with blood bespread the holy lawn. Loud menaces were heard, and foul disgrace, And bawling infamy, in language base; Till sense was lost in sound, and silence fled the place. The slayer of himself yet saw I there, The gore congealed was clotted in his hair; With eyes half closed and gaping mouth he lay, And grim as when he breathed his sullen soul away. In midst of all the dome, Misfortune sate, And gloomy Discontent, and fell Debate, And Madness laughing in his ireful mood; And armed Complaint on theft; and cries of blood. There was the murdered corps, in covert laid, And violent death in thousand shapes displayed: The city to the soldier's rage resigned; Successless wars, and poverty behind: