fortune on fortune--like the Atlantic whale,

they bulk above the lesser fish and die.

Lowell composes much of the time in a startlingly direct, meaningful and contemporary idiom--so did Juvenal. Speaking of the ambitious man: "Your long list/ of honors breaks your neck." Of the emperor Tiberius: "Would you be/Tiberius' right hand, while he sits and suns/ himself at Capri, fed by eastern fags?" Of Cicero: "Yes, all in all, I like such pompous verse/ more than you force, immortal fifth Phillipic!" The passage on Hannibal moves exceptionally well, and is an obvious illustration of the epic note that reverberates hollowly through Juvenal's revulsion:

Throw Hannibal on the scales, how many pounds

does the great captain come to? This is he

who found the plains of Africa too small,

rich Carthage with her mercenary grip stretched from Gibratar to the steaming Nile

and back to Ethiopia, her stud for slaves and elephants....

And What's the end? O glory! Like the others,

he is defeated, then the worried flight, the great, world-famous client cools his heels

in royal anterooms, and waits on some small despot, sleeping off a drunken meal.

What is the last day of this mighty spirit

whose valor turned the known world on its head?

Not swords, or pikes, or legions--no, not these,

his crown for Cannae and those seas of blood