THE Gadite men the royal charge obey. Now fragments weighed up from th’ uneven streets Leave the ground black beneath; again the sun Shines into what were porches, and on steps Once warm with frequentation—clients, friends, All morning, satchelled idlers all mid-day, Lying half-up and languid though at games. Some raise the painted pavement, some on wheels Draw slow its laminous length, some intersperse Salt waters through the sordid heaps, and seize The flowers and figures starting fresh to view. Others rub hard large masses, and essay To polish into white what they misdeem The growing green of many trackless years. Far off at intervals the axe resounds With regular strong stroke, and nearer home Dull falls the mallet with long labour fringed. Here arches are discovered, there huge beams Resist the hatchet, but in fresher air Soon drop away: there spreads a marble squared And smoothened; some high pillar for its base Chose it, which now lies ruined in the dust. Clearing the soil at bottom, they espy A crevice: they, intent on treasure, strive Strenuous, and groan, to move it: one exclaims, “I hear the rusty metal grate; it moves!” Now, overturning it, backward they start, And stop again, and see a serpent pant, See his throat thicken, and the crispéd scales Rise ruffled, while upon the middle fold He keeps his wary head and blinking eye, Curling more close and crouching ere he strike. Go mighty men, invade far cities, go— And be such treasure portions to your heirs. Six days they laboured: on the seventh day Returning, all their labours were destroyed. ’Twas not by mortal hand, or from their tents ’Twere visible; for these were now removed Above, here neither noxious mist ascends Nor the way wearies ere the work begin. There Gebir, pierced with sorrow, spake these words: “Ye men of Gades, armed with brazen shields, And ye of near Tartessus, where the shore Stoops to receive the tribute which all owe To Boetis and his banks for their attire, Ye too whom Durius bore on level meads, Inherent in your hearts is bravery: For earth contains no nation where abounds The generous horse and not the warlike man. But neither soldier now nor steed avails: Nor steed nor soldier can oppose the gods: Nor is there ought above like Jove himself; Nor weighs against his purpose, when once fixed, Aught but, with supplicating knee, the prayers. Swifter than light are they, and every face, Though different, glows with beauty; at the throne Of mercy, when clouds shut it from mankind, They fall bare-bosomed, and indignant Jove Drops at the soothing sweetness of their voice The thunder from his hand; let us arise On these high places daily, beat our breast, Prostrate ourselves and deprecate his wrath.” The people bowed their bodies and obeyed: