impatient for the conquer'd foe,
Hasten'd the tuneful hymn and solemn show;
Triumphal chariots for the victor stay'd,
And finish'd arches cast a pompous shade;
With nicest art the bards had dress'd their lays,
Of nothing fearful but to reach our praise;
But all our hopes and expectation crost,
What lines have we? what fame has  lost?