The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper;: Pope's Homer's ...

The first battle continues through this book. The scene is the same as in the former.

But Pallas now Tydides' soul inspires,
Fills with her force, and warms with all her fires,
Above the Grecks his deathless fame to raise,
And crown her hero with distinguish'd praise.
High on his helm celestial lightnings play,
His beamy shield emits a living ray;
Th' unweary'd blaze incessant streams supplies,
Like the red star that fires th' autumnal skies,
When fresh he rears his radiant orb to sight,
And, bath'd in Ocean, shoots a keener light.
Soch glories Pallas on the chief bestow'd,
Such, from his arms, the fierce effulgence flow'd:
Onward she drives him, furious to engage,

Then dy'd Scamandrius, expert in the chase,
In woods and wilds to wound the savage race:
Diana taught him all her sylvan arts,
To bend the bow, and aim unerring darts:
But vainly here Diana's arts he tries,
The fatal lance arrests him as he flies;
From Menelaus' arm the weapon sent,
Through his broad back and heaving bosom went:
Down sinks the warrior with a thundering sound,
His brazen armour rings against the ground.

Next artful Phereclus untimely fell;
Bold Merion sent him to the realms of Hell.
Thy father's skill, O Phereclus, was thine,
The graceful fabric and the fair design;
For, lov'd by Pallas, Pallas did impart
To him the shipwright's and the builder's art.
Beneath his hand the fleet of Paris rose,
The fatal cause of all his country's woes;
But he, the mystic will of Heaven unknown,

Where the fight burns, and where the thickest rage. Nor saw his country's peril, nor his own.

The sons of Dares first the combat sought,
A wealthy priest, but rich without a fault;
In Vulcan's fane the father's days were led,
The sons to toils of glorious battle bred;
These singled from their troops the fight maintain,
These from their steeds, Tydides on the plain.
Fierce for renown the brother chiefs draw near,
And first bold Phegus cast his sounding spear,
Which o'er the warrior's shoulder took its course,
And spent in empty air its erring force.
Not so, Tydides, flew thy lance in vain,
But piere'd bis breast, and stretch'd him on the plain.
Seiz'd with unusual fear, Idæus fled,

left the rich chariot, and his brother dead.
And, had not Vulcan lent his celestial aid,
He too had sunk to death's eternal shade;
But in a smoky cloud the god of fire
Preserv'd the son, in pity to the sire.
The steeds and chariot, to the navy led,
ncreas'd the spoils of gallant Diomed.
Struck with amaze and shame, the Trojan crew
Or slain or fled, the sons of Dares view;
When by the blood-stain'd hand Minerva prest
The god of battles, and this speech addrest :

"Stern power of war! by whom the mighty fall,
Who bathe in blood, and shake the lofty wall!
Let the brave chiefs their glorious toils divide;
And whose the conquest mighty Jove decide:
While we from interdicted fields retire,
Nor tempt the wrath of Heaven's avenging sire."

Her words allay'd the impetuous warrior's heat,
The god of arms and martial maid retreat;
Removed from fight, on Xanthus' flowery bounds
They sat, and listen'd to the dying sounds.

Meantime the Greeks the Trojan race pursue,
And some bold chieftain every leader slew :
First Odius falls, and bites the bloody sand,
His death ennobled by Atrides' hand;
As he to flight bis wheeling car addrest,
The speedy javelin drove from back to breast.
In dust the mighty Halizonian lay,

His arms resound, the spirit wings its way.

Thy fate was next, O Phæstus! doom'd to feel
The great Idomeneus' portended steel;
Whom Borus sent (his son and only joy).
From fruitful Tarne to the fields of Troy.
The Cretan javelin reach'd him from afar,
And piere'd his shoulder as he mounts his car;
Back from the car he tumbles to the ground,
And everlasting shades his eyes surround.

The hapless artist, while confus'd he fled,
The spear of Merion mingled with the dead,
Through his right hip with forceful fury cast,
Between the bladder and the bone it past:
Prone on his knees he falls with fruitless cries,
And death in lasting slumber seals his eyes.
From Meges' force the swift Pedæus fled,

Antenor's offspring from a foreign bed,
Whose generous spouse, Theano, heavenly fair,
Nurs'd the young stranger with a mother's care.
How vain those cares! when Meges in the rear
Full in his nape infix'd the fatal spear!
Swift through his crackling jaws the weapon glides,
And the cold tongue the grinning teeth divides.

Then dy'd Hypsenor, generous and divine,
Sprung from the brave Dolopian's mighty line,
Who near ador'd Scamander made abode,
Priest of the stream, and honour'd as a god.
On him, amidst the flying numbers found,
Eurypylus inflicts a deadly wound;
On his broad shoulders fell the forceful brand,
Then glancing downward lopp'd his holy hand,
Which stain'd with sacred blood the blushing sand.
Down sunk the priest; the purple hand of death
Clos'd his dim eye, and fate suppress'd his breath.

Thus toil'd the chiefs, in different parts engag'd,
In every quarter fierce Tydides rag'd,
Amid the Greek, amid the Trojan train,
Rapt through the ranks, he thunders o'er the plain,
Now here, now there, he darts from place to

place,

Pours on the rear, or lightens in their face.
Thus from high hills the torrents swift and strong
Deluge whole fields, and sweep the trees along,
Through ruin'd moles the rushing wave resounds,
O'erwhelms the bridge, and bursts the lofty bounds.
The yellow harvests of the ripen'd year,
And flatted vineyards, one sad waste appear!
While Jove descends in sluicy sheets of rain,
And all the labours of mankind are vain.

So rag'd Tydides, boundless in his ire,
Drove armies back, and made all Troy retire.
With grief the leader1 of the Lycian band
Saw the wide waste of his destructive hand:
His bended bow against the chief he drew;
Swift to the mark the thirsty arrow flew,
Whose forky point the hollow breast-plate tore,
Deep in his shoulder pierc'd, and drank the gore:

1 Pandarus.

The rushingstream his brazen armour dy'd,
While the proud archer thus exulting cry'd:

"Hither, ye Trojans, hither drive your steeds!
Lo! by our hand the bravest Grecian bleeds.
Not long the dreadful dart he can sustain;
Or Phœbus urg'd me to these fields in vain.

So spoke he, boastful; but the winged dart Stopt short of life, and mock'd the shooter's art. The wounded chief, behind his car retir'd, The helping hand of Sthenelus requir'd; Swift from his seat he leap'd upon the ground, And tugg'd the weapon from the gushing wound; When thus the king his guardian power addrest, The purple current wandering o'er his vest:

"O progeny of Jove! unconquer'd maid! If e'er my god-like sire deserv'd thy aid, If e'er I felt thee in the fighting field, Now, goddess, now thy sacred succour yield. O give my lance to reach the Trojan knight, Whose arrow wounds the chief thou guard'st in fight;

And lay the boaster groveling on the shore,
That vaunts these eyes shall view the light no more."
Thus pray'd Tydides, and Minerva heard;
His nerves confirm'd, his languid spirits cheer'd,
He feels each limb with wonted vigour light;
His beating bosom claims the promis'd fight.
"Be bold," (she cry'd) "in every combat shine,
War be thy province, thy protection mine;
Rush to the fight, and every foe control;
Wake each paternal virtue in thy soul:
Strength swells thy boiling breast, infus'd by me,
And all thy god-like father breathes in thee!
Yet more, from mortal mist I purge thy eyes,
And set to view the warring deities.
These see thou shun, through all th' embattled
Nor rashly strive where human force is vain.
If Venus mingle in the martial band,

[plain,

Her shalt thou wound: so Pallas gives command.

With that, the blue-ey'd virgin wing'd her flight;
The hero rush'd impetuous to the fight;
With tenfold ardour now invades the plain,
Wild with delay, and more enrag'd by pain.
As on the fleecy flocks, when hunger calls,
Amidst the field a brindled lion falls;

If chance some shepherd with a distant dart
The savage wound, he rouses at the smart,
He foams, he roars; the shepherd dares not stay,
But trembling leaves the scattering flocks a prey;
Heaps fall on heaps; he bathes with blood the

ground,

Then leaps victorious o'er the lofty mound.
Not with less fury stern Tydides flew;
And two brave leaders at an instant slew:
Astynoüs breathless fell, and by his side
His people's pastor, good Hypenor, dy'd;
Astynous' breast the deadly lance receives,
Hypenor's shoulder his broad falchion cleaves.
Those slain be left; and sprung with noble rage
Abas and Polyïdus to engage;

Sons of Furydamus, who, wise and old,

Could fates foresee, and mystic dreams unfold;
The youths return'd not from the doubtful plain,
And the sad father try'd his arts in vain;
No mystic dream could make their fates appear,
Though now détermin'd by Tydides spear.

Young Xanthus next, and Thoön felt his rage;
The joy and hope of Phænops' feeble age;
Vast was his wealth, and these the only heirs
Of all his labours, and a life of cares.

Cold death o'ertakes them in their blooming years,
And leaves the father unavailing tears:
To strangers now descend his heapy store,
The race forgotten, and the name no more.

Two sons of Priam in one chariot ride
Glittering in arms, and combat side by side.
As when the lordly lion seeks his food
Where grazing heifers range the lonely wood,
He leaps amidst them with a furious bound,
Bends their strong necks, and tears them to the

ground:

So from their seats the brother chiefs are torn,
Their steeds and chariot to the navy borne.
With deep concern divine Æneas view'd
The foe prevailing, and his friends pursued,
Through the thick storm of singing spears he flies,
Exploring Pandarus with careful eyes,
At length he found Lycaon's mighty son;
To whom the chief of Venus' race begun:

Where, Pandarus, are all thy honours now,

Thy winged arrows and unerring bow,
Thy matchless skili, thy yet unrivall'd fame,
And boasted glory of the Lycian name?
Oh pierce that mortal: if we mortal call
That wondrous force by which whole armies fall;
Or god incens'd, who quits the distant skies
To punish Troy for slighted sacrifice;
(Which, oh, avert from our unhappy state!
For what so dreadful as celestial hate?)
Whoe'er he be, propitiate Jove with prayer;
If man destroy; if god, entreat to spare."

To him the Lycian: "Whom your eyes behold,

If right I judge, is Diomed the bold!
Such coursers whirl him o'er the dusty field,
So towers his helmet, and so flames his shield.
If 'tis a god, he wears that chief's disguise;
Or if that chief, some guardian of the skies
Involv'd in clouds, protects him in the fray,
And turns unseen the frustrate dart away.
I wing'd an arrow, which not idly fell,

The stroke had fix'd him to the gates of Hell;
And, but some god, some angry god withstands,
His fate was due to these unerring hands.
Skill'd in the bow, on foot I sought the war,
Nor join'd swift horses to the rapid car.
Ten polish'd chariots I possess'd at home,
And still they grace Lycaon's princely dome :
There veil'd in spacious coverlets they stand;
And twice ten coursers wait their lord's command.
The good old warrior bade me trust to these,
When first for Troy I sail'd the sacred seas;
In fields aloft the whirling car to guide,
And through the ranks of death triumphant ride :
But vain with youth, and yet to thrift inclin'd,
I heard his councils with unheedful mind,

And thought the steeds (your large supplies un

known)

Might fail of forage in the straiten'd town:
So took my bow and pointed darts in hand,
And left the chariots in my native land.

"Too late, O friend! my rashness I deplore;
These shafts, once fatal, carry death no more.
Tydcus' and Atreus' sons their points have found,
And undissembled gore pursued the wound.
In vain they bled: this unavailing bow
Serves, not to slaughter, but provoke the foe.
In evil hour these bended horns I strung,
And seiz'd the quiver where it idly hung.
Curs'd be the fate that sent me to the field

! Without a warrior's arms, the spear and shield;

Ife'er with life I quit the Trojan plain, Ife'er I see my spouse and sire again, This bow, unfaithful to my glorious aims,

Broke by my hand, shall feed the blazing flames."

To whom the leader of the Dardan race:

Be calm, nor Phœbus' honour'd gift disgrace. The distant dart be prais'd, though here we need The rushing chariot, and the bounding steed. Against yon hero let us bend our course,

And hand to hand, encounter force with force.
Now mount my seat, and from the chariot's height
Observe my father's steels, renown'd in fight,
Practis'd alike to turn, to stop, to chase,
To dare the shock, or urge the rapid race:
Secure with these, through fighting fields we go;
Or safe to Troy, if Jove assist the foe.
Haste, seize the whip, and snatch the guiding rein;
The warrior's fury let this arın sustain;
Or, if to combat thy bold heart incline,

Tase thou the spear, the chariot's care be mine.”

"O prince!" (Lycaon's valiant son reply'd) "As thine the steeds, be thine the task to guide. The horses, practis'd to their lord's command, Shall bear the rein, and answer to thy hand, But if, unhappy, we desert the fight, Thy voice alone can animate their flight: Else shall our fates be number'd with the dead, And these, the victor's prize, in triumph led. Thine be the guidance then: with spear and shield Myself will charge this terrour of the field."

And now both heroes mount the glittering car; The bounding coursers rush amidst the war. Their fierce approach bold Sthenelus espy'd, Who thus, alarm'd, to great Tydides cry'd :

O friend! two chiefs of force immense I see, Dreadful they come, and bend their rage on thee: Lo the brave heir of bold Lycaon's line, And great Æneas, sprung from race divine! Enough is given to fame. Ascend thy car; And save a life, the bulwark of our war."

At this the hero cast a gloomy look,
Fix'd on the chief with scorn; and thus he spoke:
"Me dost thou bid to shun the coming fight?
Me would'st thou move to base, inglorious flight?
Know, 'tis not honest in my soul to fear,
Nor was Tydides born to tremble here.
I hate the cumbrous chariot's slow advance,
And the long distance of the flying lance;
But while my nerves are strong, my force entire,
Thus front the foe, and emulate my sire.

Nor shall yon steeds that fierce to fight convey
Those threatening heroes. bear them both away;
One chief at least beneath this arm shall die :
So Pallas tells me, and forbids to fly.
Bat if she dooms, and if no god withstand,
That both shall fall by one victorious hand;
Then heed my words: my heroes here detain,
Fix'd to the chariot by the straighten'd rein;
Swift to Æneas' empty seat proceed,

And scize the coursers of etherial breed :
The race of those, which once the thundering god
For ravish'd Ganymede on Tros bestow'd,
The best that e'er on Earth's broad surface run,
Beneath the rising or the setting Sun.
Hence great Anchises stole a breed, unknown
By mortal mares, from fierce Laomedon;
Four of this race his ample stalls contain,
And two transport Æneas o'er the plain. [known."
These, were the rich immortal prize our own,
Through the wide world should make our glory.

He bleeds! the pride of Greece!" (the boaster cries)

"Our triumph now the mighty warrior lies!" "Mistaken vaunter!" Diomed reply'd;

Thy dart has err'd, and now my spear be try'd: Ye 'scape not both; one, headlong from his car, With hostile blood shall glut the god of war."

He spoke, and rising hurl'd his forceful dart, Which, driven by Pallas, piere'd a vital part; Full in his face it enter'd, and betwixt The nose and eye-ball the proud Lycian fixt; Crash'd all his jaws, and cleft the tongue within, Till the bright point look'd out beneath the chiu. Headlong he falls, his helmet knocks the ground; Earth groans beneath him, and his arms resound; The starting coursers tremble with affright; The soul indignant seeks the realms of night.

To guard his slaughter'd friend, Æneas flies,
His spear extending where the carcase lies;
Watchful he wheels, protects it every way,
As the grim lion stalks around his prey.
O'er the fall'n trunk his ample shield display'd,
He hides the hero with his mighty shade,
And threats aloud: the Greeks with longing eyes
Behold at distance, but forbear the prize.
Then fierce Tydides stoops; and from the fields,
Heav'd with vast force, a rocky fragment wields,
Not two strong men th' enormous weight could raise,
Such men as live in these degenerate days.
He swung it round; and, gathering strength to
Discharg'd the ponderous ruin at the foe. (throw,
Where to the hip th' inserted thigh unites,
Full on the bone the pointed marble lights;
Through both the tendons broke the rugged stone
And stripp'd the skin, and crack'd the solid bone.
Sunk on his knees, and staggering with his pains,
His falling bulk his berded arms sustains;
Lost in a dizzy mist the warrior lies;

A sudden cloud comes swimming o'er his eyes.
There the brave chief who mighty numbers sway'd,
Oppress'd had sunk to death's eternal shade;
But heavenly Venus, mindful of the love
She bore Anchises in th' Idæan grove,
His danger views with anguish and despair,
And guards her offspring with a mother's care.
About her much-lov'd son her arms she throws,
Her arms whose whiteness match the falling snows,
Screen'd from the foe behind her shining veil,
The swords wave harmless, and the javelins fail:
Safe through the rushing horse, and feather'd flight
Of sounding shafts, she bears him from the fight.

Nor Sthenelus, with unassisting hands,
Remain'd unheedful of his lord's commands:
His panting steeds, remov'd from out the war,
He fix'd with straighten'd traces to the car.
Next rushing to the Dardan spoil, detains
The heavenly coursers with the flowing manes:
These, in proud triumph to the fleet convey'd,
No longer now a Trojan lord obey'd,
That charge to bold Deïpylus he gave,
(Whom most he lov'd, as brave men love the brave)
Then mounting on his car, resum'd the rein,
And follow'd where Tydides swept the plain.

Meanwhile (his conquest ravish'd from his eyes) | Full thirteen moons imprison'd roar'd in vain;

The raging chief in chase of Venus flies:
No goddess she commission'd to the field,
Like Pallas dreadful with her sable shield,
Or fierce Bellona thundering at the wall,
While flames ascend, and mighty ruins fall;
H knew soft combats suit the tender dame,
New to the field, and still a foe to fame.
Through breaking ranks his furious course he bends,
And at the goddess his broad lance extends;
Through her bright veil the daring weapon drove,
Th' ambrosial veil, which all the graces wove;
Her snowy hand the razing steel profan'd,
And the transparent skin with crimson stain'd.
From the clear vein a stream immortal flow'd,
Such stream as issues froin a wounded God:
Pure emanation! uncorrupted flood;
Unlike our gross, diseas'd, terrestrial blood:
(For not the bread of man their life sustains,
Nor wine's inflaming juice supplies their veins.)
With tender shrieks the goddess fill'd the place,
And dropp'd her offspring from her weak embrace.
Him Phœbus took: he casts a cloud around
The fainting chief, and wards the mortal wound.

Then, with a voice that shook the vaulted skies,
The king insults the goddess as she flies.
"Ill with Jove's daughter bloody fights agree,
The field of combat is no scene for thee:
Go, let thy own soft sex employ thy care,
Go, lull the coward, or delude the fair.
Taught by this stroke, renounce the war's alarms,
And learn to tremble at the name of arms."

Tydides thus. The goddess seiz'd with dread,
Confus'd, distracted, from the conflict filed,
To aid her, swift the winged Iris flew,
Wrapt in a mist above the warring crew.
The queen of love with faded charins she found,
Pale was her cheek, and livid look'd the wound.
To Mars, who sat remote, they bent their way,
Far on the left, with clouds involv'd he lay;
Beside him stood his lance, distain'd with gore,
And, rein'd with gold, his foaming steeds before.
Low at his knee, she begg'd, with streaming eyes,
Her brother's car, to mount the distant skies,
And shew'd the wound by fierce Tydides given,
A mortal man who dares encounter Heaven.
Stern Mars attentive hears the queen complain,
And to her hand commits the golden rein;
She mounts the seat, oppress'd with silent woe,
Driven by the goddess of the painted bow.
The lash resounds, the rapid chariot flies,
And in a moment scales the lofty skies:
There stopp'd the car, and there the coursers stood,
Fed by fair Iris with ambrosial food.

Before her mother, love's bright queen appears,
O'erwhelm'd with anguish, and dissolv'd in tears;
She rais'd her in her arms, beheld her bleed,
And ask'd, what god had wrought this guilty deed?
Then she: "This insult from no god I found,
An impious mortal gave the daring wound!
Behold the deed of haughty Diomed!
'Twas in the son's defence the mother bled.
The war with Troy no more the Grecians wage,
But with the gods (th' immortal gods) engage."

Dione then: "Thy wrongs with patience bear,
And share those griefs inferior powers must share :
Unnumber'd woes mankind from us sustain,
And men with woes afflict the gods again.
The mighty Mars in mortal fetters bound,
And lodg'd in brazen dungeons under ground,

Otus and Ephialtes held the chain:
Perhaps had perish'd; had not Hermes' care
Restor'd the groaning god to upper air.
Great Juno's self has bore her weight of pain,
Th' imperial partner of the heavenly reign;
Amphitryon's son infix'd the deadly dart,
And fill'd with anguish her immortal heart.
Ev'n Hell's grim king Alcides' power confess'd,
The shaft found entrance in his iron breast;
To Jove's high palace for a cure he fled,
Piere'd in his own dominions of the dead;
Where Paon, sprinkling heavenly balm around,
Assuag'd the glowing pangs, and clos'd the wound.
Rash, impious man! to stain the blest abodes,
And drench his arrows in the blood of gods!

But thou (though Pallas urg'd thy frantic deed)
Whose spear ill-fated makes a goddess bleed,
Know thou, whoe'er with heavenly power contends,
Short is his date, and soon his glory ends;
From fields of death when late he shall retire,
No infant on his knees shall call him sire.
Strong as thou art, some god may yet be found.
To stretch thee pale and gasping on the ground;
Thy distant wife, Ægiale the fair,
Starting from sleep with a distracted air,
Shall rouse thy slaves, and her lost lord deplore,
The brave, the great, the glorious, now no more!"

This said, she wip'd from Venus' wounded palm
The sacred ichor, and infus'd the balm.
Juno and Pallas with a smile survey'd,
And thus to Jove began the blue-ey'd maid;

"Permit thy daughter, gracious Jove! to tell
How this mischance the Cyprian queen befell.
As late she try'd with passion to inflame
The tender bosom of a Grecian dame,
Allur'd the fair with moving thoughts of joy,
To quit her country for some youth of Troy;
The clasping zone, with golden buckles bound,
Raz'd her soft hand with this lamented wound."

The sire of gods and men superior smil'd,
And, calling Venus, thus addrest his child:

Not these, O daughter, are thy proper cares!
Thee milder arts befit, and softer wars:
Sweet smiles are thine, and kind endearing charms,
To Mars and Pallas leave the deeds of arms."

Thus they in Heaven: while on the plain below
The fierce Tydides charg'd his Dardan foe,
Flush'd with celestial blood pursu'd his way,
And fearless dar'd the threatening god of day;
Already in his hopes he saw him kill'd,
Though screen'd behind Apollo's mighty shield.
Thrice rushing furious, at the chief he strook ;
His blazing buckler thrice Apollo shook:
He try'd the fourth: when, breaking from the cloud,
A more than mortal voice was heard aloud :

O son of Tydeus, cease! be wise and see
How vast the difference of the gods and thee;
Distance immense! between the powers that shine
Above, eternal, deathless, and divine,
And mortal man! a wretch of humble birth,
A short-liv'd reptile in the dust of Earth."

So spoke the god who darts celestial fires;
He dreads his fury, and some steps retires.
Then Phœbus bore the chief of Venus' race
To Troy's high fane, and to his holy place;
Latona there and Phœbe heal'd the wound,
With vigour arm'd him, and with glory crown'd.
This done, the patron of the silver bow

A phantom rais'd, the same in shape and show

With great Eneas; such the form he bore, And such in fight the radiant arms he wore.

Around the spectre bloody wars are wag'd,
And Greece and Troy with clashing shields engag'd.
Meantime on Ilion's tower Apollo stood.

And, calling Mars, thus urg'd the raging God.
"Stern power of arms, by whom the mighty fall;
Who bath'st in blood, and shak'st th' embattled
Rise in thy wrath! to Hell's abhorr'd abodes [wall,
Dispatch yon Greek, and vindicate the gods.

First rosy Venus felt his brutal rage;
Me next he charg'd, and dares all Heaven engage:
The wretch would brave high Heaven's immortal

His triple thunder, and his bolts of fire."

The god of battle issues on the plain,

Stirs all the ranks, and fires the Trojan train;

In form like Acamas, the Thracian guide,

Enrag'd, to Troy's retiring chiefs he cry'd:

How long, ye sons of Priam! will ye fly,

[sire,

And unreveng'd see Priam's people die ?
Still unresisted shall the foe destroy,
And stretch the slaughter to the gates of Troy?
Lo brave Encas sinks beneath his wound,

Not god-like Hector more in arms renown'd:
Histe all, and take the generous warrior's part,"
He said; new courage swell'd each hero's heart.
Sarpedon first his ardent soul express'd.
And, turn'd to Hector, these bold words express'd:
"Say, chief, is all thy ancient valour lost?
Where are thy threats, and where thy glorious

boast,

That propt alone by Priam's race should stand Troy's sacred walls, nor need a foreign hand? Now, now thy country calls her wanted friends, And the proud vaunt in just derision ends, Remote they stand, while alien troops engage, Like trembling hounds before the lion's rage. Far distant hence I held my wide command, Where foaming Xanthus laves the Lycian land, With ample wealth (the wish of mortals) blest, A beauteous wife, and infant at her breast; With those I left whatever dear could be; Greece, if she conquers, nothing wins from me: Vet first in fight my Lycian bands I cheer, And long to meet this mighty man ye fear; While Hector idle stands, nor bids the brave Their wives, their infants, and their altars save. Haste, warrior, haste! preserve thy threaten'd Or one vast burst of all-involving fate Full o'er your towers shall fall, and sweep away Sons, sires, and wives, an undistinguish'd prey. Kouse all thy Trojans, urge thy aids to fight; These claim thy thoughts by day, thy watch by

night:

[state;

With force incessant the brave Greeks oppose;
Such cares thy friends deserve, and such thy foes."
Stung to the heart the generous Hector hears,
But just reproof with decent silence bears,
From his proud car the prince impetuous springs,
On earth he leaps; his brazen armour rings.
Two shining spears are brandish'd in his hands;
Thus arm'd, he animates his drooping bands,
Revives their ardour, turns their steps from flight,
And wakes anew the dying flames of fight.

They turn, the stand, the Greeks their fury dare,
Condense their powers, and wait the growing war.

As when, on Ceres' sacred floor, the swain Spreads the wide fan to clear the golden grain, And the light chaff, before the breezes borne, Ascends in clouds from off the heapy corn;

The gray dust, rising with collected winds,
Drives o'er the barn, and whitens all the hinds:
So white with dust the Grecian host appcars,
From trampling steeds, and thundering charioteers;
The dusky clouds from labour'd earth arise,
And roll in smoking volumes to the skies.
Mars hovers o'er them with his sable shield,
And adds new honours to the darken'd field,
Pleas'd with his charge, and ardent to fulfil,
In Troy's defence, Apollo's heavenly will:
Soon as from fight the blue-ey'd maid retires,
Each Trojan bosom with new warmth he fires.
And now the god, from forth his sacred fane,
Produc'd Æneas to the shouting train;
Alive, unharm'd, with all his peers around,
Erect he stood, and vigorous from his wound:
Inquiries none they made; the dreadful day
No pause of words admits, no dull delay;
Fierce discord storms, Apollo loud exclaims,
Fame calls, Mars thunders, and the field's in

[flames.

Stern Diomed with either Ajax stood, And great Ulysses, bath'd in hostile blood. Embodied close, the labouring Grecian train The fiercest shock of charging hosts sustain. Uamov'd and silent, the whole war they wait, Serenely dreadful, and as fix'd as fate. So when th' embattled clouds in dark array, Along the skies their gloomy lines display; When now the north his boisterous rage has spent, And peaceful sleeps the liquid element: The low-hung vapours motionless aud still Rest on the summits of the shaded hill; 'Till the mass scatters as the winds arise, Dispers'd and broken through the ruffled skies.

Nor was the general wanting to his train, From troop to troop he toils through all the plain. "Ye Greeks, be men! the charge of battle bear; Your brave associates and yourselves revere! Let glorious acts more glorious acts inspire, And catch from breast to breast the noble fire! On valour's side the odds of combat lie, The brave live glorious, or lamented die; The wretch who trembles in the field of fame, Meets death, and worse than death, eternal shame."

These words he seconds with his flying lance, To meet whose point was strong Deïcoön's chance, Æneas' friend, and in his native place Honour'd and lov'd like Priam's royal race: Long had he fought the foremost in the field, But now the monarch's lance transpierc'd his shield: His shield too weak the furious dart to stay, Through his broad belt the weapon forc'd its way: The grizzly wound dismiss'd his soul to Hell, His arms around him rattled as he fell.

The fierce Æneas, brandishing his blade,
In dust Orsilochus and Chrethon laid,
Whose sire Diöcleus, wealthy, brave, and great,
In well-built Pheræ held his lofty seat:
Sprung from Alpheüs, plenteous stream! that yields
Increase of harvests to the Pylian fields.
He got Orsilochus, Diöcleus he,

And these descended in the third degree,
Too early expert in the martial toil,

In sable ships they left their native soil,
T' avenge Atrides: now untimely slain,
They fell with glory on the Phrygian plain.
So two young mountain lions, nurs'd with blood,
In deep recesses of the gloomy wood,
Rush fearless to the plains, and uncontrol'd
Depopulate the stalls, and waste the fold;

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