  Thou that didst mark from Heircte's spacious hill The Roman spears, like mist, uprise each morn, Yet held, with Hesper's shining point of scorn, Thy sword unsheathed above Panormus still; Thou that were leagued with nought but thine own will, Eurythmic vastness to that stronghold torn From foes above, below, where, though forlorn, Thou still hadst claws to cling, and beak to kill— Eagle of Eryx!—When the Ægation shoal Rolled westward all the hopes that Hanno wrecked With mighty wing, unwearying, didst thou Seek far beyond the wolf's grim protocol, Within the Iberian sunset faintly specked A rock where Punic faith should bide its vow. |
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