And, hark! resounds the clashing din of war, On adamantine walls the arrows play; Against thy gates, strong laced with iron bar, The battering-ram rolls on in fierce array; Now high thy famish’d garrison display The skin of beasts, to mock what most they need, While shakes thy tower from vault to turret gray, As on the invader’s head the pointed reed From cunning crevice pours the boiling molten lead.