Whose consuls are forgotten, served in cups

With gold and jewels wrought restores the spark,

The failing spark, of life; but water pure

And simplest fruits of earth. The flood, the field

Suffice for nature. Ah! the weary lot

Of those who war! But these, their amour laid

Low at the victor's feet, with lightened breast,

Secure themselves, no longer dealing death,

(Editor：nature)