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As he to flight his wheeling car addrest,
The speedy javelin drove from back to breast.
In dust the mighty Halizonian lay,

55 His arms resound, the spirit wings its way.

Thy fate was next, o Phæftus ! 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. 60
The Cretan javelin reach'd him from afar,
And pierc'd his shoulder as he niounts his car;
Back from the car he tumbles to the ground,
And everlasting shades his eyes surround.

Then dy'd Scamandrius, expert in the cliace,
In woods and wilds to wound the favage 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 warriour 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 fabrick and the fair design,
For, lov'd by Pallas, Pallas did impart
To him the shipwright’s and the builder's art. 80
Beneath his hand the feet of Paris rose,
The fatal cause of all his country's woes.;,




But he, the mystick will of Heaven unknown,
Nor saw his country's peril, nor his own.
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 sumber seals his eyes. 90

From Meges? force the swift Pedæus filed,
Antenor's offspring from a foreign bed,
Whofe generous spouse, Theano, heavenly. fair,
Nurs'd the young stranger with a mother's car
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, 105,
Then glancing downward lopp'd his holy hand,


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Down sunk the priest; the purple hand of death
Clos’d his dim eye, and fate suppress’d his breath.

Thus toild 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 fweep 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 fad waste appear!
While Jove descends in fluicy sheets of rain,
And all the labours of mankind are vain.

So rag'd Tydides, boundlefs in his ire,
Drove armies back, and made all Troy retire, 125
With grief the * leader of the Lycian band
Saw the wide wafte 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, 13
Deep in his shoulder pierc'd, and drank the gore :
The rushing stream 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.

135 Not long the dreadful dart he can sustain ; Or Phoebus urg'd' me to these fields in vain.

So fpoke 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,

140 The helping hand of Sthenelus requir'd ; Swift from his fear he leap'd upon the ground, And tugg’d the weapon from the gufhing wound;

When * Pandarus,

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When thus the king his guardian power addrest,
The purple current wandering o'er his veft:

O progeny of Jove ! unconquer'd main!
If e'er my godlike Sire deserv'd thy aid,
If e'er I felt thee in the fighting field;
Now, Goddess, now thy sacred succour yield.
Oh give my lance to reach the Trojan knight,

Whofe arrow wounds the chief thou guard'st in fight;
And lay the boaster groveling on the More,
That vaunts these eyes shall view the light no more.

Thus pray’d Tydides, and Minerva heard ;
His nerves confirni’d, his languid spirits chear’d, 155
He feels each limb with wonted vigour light;
His beating bosom claims the promis'd fight.
Be bold (The cry’d) in every combat shine,
War be thy province, thy protection mine;
Ruth 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 godlike father breathes in thee !
Yet more, from mortal mists I purge thy eyes,
Apd set to view the warring Deities..

These see thou fun, through all th’embattled plain,
Nor rafhly strive where human, force is vain.
If Venus mingle in the martial band,
Her shalt thou wound: fo Pallas gives command.

With that, the blue-ey'd virgin wing'd her Alight;
The hero rush'd impetuous to the fight;
Wish 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 rouzes at the smart,
He foams, he roars; the thepherd 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 ftern Tydides flew ;
And two brave leaders at an instant flew :
Altynoüs breathless fell, and by his side
His people's pastor, good Hypenor, dy'd ;
Astynoüs' breast the deadly lance receives,
Hypenor's shoulder his broad falchion cleaves.
Those Nain he left; and sprung with noble rage
Abas and Polyödus to engage ;
Sons of Eurydamus, who, wise and old,

190 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 determin’d by Tydides' spear. 196

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, 200 And leaves the father unavailing tears : To strangers now descends his heapy store, The race forgotten, and the name no more.


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