So they, while down their cheeks the torrents roll; But fix’d remains the purpose of his soul; Resolved he stands, and with a fiery glance Expects the hero’s terrible advance. So, roll’d up in his den, the swelling snake Beholds the traveller approach the brake; When fed with noxious herbs his turgid veins Have gather’d half the poisons of the plains; He burns, he stiffens with collected ire, And his red eyeballs glare with living fire. Beneath a turret, on his shield reclined, He stood, and question’d thus his mighty mind:[275]