Classic Poem

Fierce as the roar we hear in Afric lands
When the wood raves with countless lion bands,
And the pale shepherd to his Punic farm
Calls back his bulls and sheep in dire alarm;
So in our Roman ring there echoed loud
A monster, who but one yet seemed a crowd,
So great, all lions would his empire own,
And marble-decked Numidia yield the crown.

What glory to his neck his raised mane gave,
Falling majestic in a golden wave!
How that broad breast became our hunter's might;
What joy was his to die, Lord, in thy sight!
Who to the Afric woods such glory lent?
Was he perchance from Cybele's chariot sent?
Or did thy brother or thy mighty sire
Send down the beast from great Alcides' fire?