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Much as brave Jason by the Colchian shore,
Through magic arts won the Golden Fleece,
Sowing the plain with the old serpent’s teeth,
To engender soldiers from the furrow’s store,

This city, that in youthful season bore
A Hydra’s nest of warriors, raised a yeast
Of brave nurslings, who their proud glory saw
Fill the Sun’s mansions, to the west and east:

But in the end, lacking a Hercules
To vanquish so fecund a progeny,
Arming themselves in civil enmity,

Mowed each other down, a cruel harvest,
Reliving thus the fraternal harsh unrest
Which had blinded that proud seeded army.