Of Sanguine Spires

Beside a Fountain's sacred Brink we rais'd
Our verdant Altars, and the Victims blaz'd;
('Twas where the Plane-tree spread its Shades around)
The Altars heav'd; and from the crumbling Ground
A mighty Dragon shot, of dire Portent;
From Jove himself the dreadful Sign was sent.
Strait to the Tree his sanguine Spires he roll'd,
And curl'd around in many a winding Fold.
The Topmost Branch a Mother-Bird possest;
Eight callow Infants fill'd the mossie Nest;
Herself the ninth: The Serpent as he hung,
Stretch'd his black Jaws, and crash'd the crying Young;
While hov'ring near, with miserable Moan,
The drooping Mother wail'd her Children gone.
The Mother last, as round the Nest she flew,
Seiz'd by the beating Wing, the Monster slew:
Nor long surviv'd; to Marble turn'd he stands
A lasting Prodigy on Aulis' Sands.
Such was the Will of Jove; and hence we dare
Trust in his Omen, and support the War.

– Ulysses to the Grecian army
(The Iliad, Book 2, Lines 368-387, trans Pope)