Twice filled her orb and waned, compelled to flight

The pirate, shrinking from the open sea,

And humbly begging for a narrow home

In some poor nook on shore. 'Twas I again

Who, happier far than Sulla, drave to death (30)

That king who, exiled to the deep recess

Of Scythian Pontus, held the fates of Rome

Still in the balances. Where is the land