For winter's storms have ceased to lower,And zephyrs of returuing springTempt him to launch on unknown skiesNext on the fold he stoops downright;Last on resisting serpents flies,Athirst for foray and for flight:As tender kidling on the grassEspies, uplooking from her food,A lion's whelp, and knows, alas!Those new-set teeth shall drink her blood:So look'd the Raetian mountaineersOn Drusus:—whence in every fieldThey learn'd through immemorial yearsThe Amazonian axe to wield,I ask not now: not all of truthWe seekers find: enough to knowThe wisdom of the princely youthHas taught our erst victorious foeWhat prowess dwells in boyish heartsRear'd in the shrine of a pure home,