Dawn tints the heights on this ill day of need.
The camp has roused. The waters roaring go
Where the Numidian light-horse drink below,
And everywhere the pealing trumpets plead.

For spite of Scipio, of the augurs' rede,
Of wind and rain, the Trebia's swollen flow,
Sempronius Consul, proud new fame to know,
Has bade his lictors with the axe proceed.

The Insubres their burning homes behold,
The horizon reddening with the flames uprolled,
While far resounds the elephant's loud cry.

Beneath the bridge, leaning against an arch,
Deep-musing Hannibal, with triumph high,
Lists to the tramping legions as they march.