When now they touch'd the mead's enamel'd fide, Where gentle Xanthus rolls his easy tide,
With watery drops the chief they sprinkle round,
Plac'd on the margin of the flowery ground,
Rais'd on his knees, he now ejects the gore;
Now faints anew, low-finking on the shore;
By fits he breathes, half views the fleeting skies,
And feals again, by fits, his fwimming eyes.
Soon as the Greeks the chief's retreat beheld,
With double fury each invades the field.
Oïlean Ajax first his javelin fped,
Pierc'd by whofe point the fon of Enops bled;
(Satnius the brave, whom beauteous Neïs bore
Amidst her flocks, on Satnio's filver shore)
Struck through the belly's rim, the warriour lies
Supine, and fhades eternal veil his eyes.
An arduous battle rofe around the dead;
By turns the Greeks, by turns the Trojans bled.
Fir'd with revenge, Polydamas drew near,
And at Prothonor fhook the trembling spear;
The driving javelin through his shoulder thrust,,
He finks to earth, and grasps the bloody duft.
Lo thus (the victor cries) we rule the field,
And thus their arms the race of Panthus wield:
From this unerring hand there flies no dart
But bathes its point within a Grecian heart.
Prompt on that fpear to which thou ow'st thy fall,
Go, guide thy dark fome fteps to Pluto's dreary hall!
He faid, and forrow touch'd each Argive breaft:
The foul of Ajax burn'd above the rest.
As by his fide the groaning warriour fell,
At the fierce foe he lanch'd his piercing steel:
The foe reclining, fhunn'd the flying death;
But Fate, Archilochus, demands thy breath :.
Thy lofty birth no fuccour could impart,
The wings of death o'ertook thee on the dart.
Swift to perform Heaven's fatal will it fled,
Full on the juncture of the neck and head,
And took the joint, and cut the nerves in twain: 545
The dropping head first tumbled to the plain.
So just the ftroke, that yet the body stood
Erect, then roll'd along the fands in blood.
Here, proud Polydamas, here turn thy eyes!
(The towering Ajax loud infulting cries).
Say, is this chief extended on the plain,
A worthy vengeance for Prothonor flain?
Mark well his port! his figure and his face
Nor fpeak him vulgar, nor of vulgar race;
Some lines, methinks, may make his lineage known,.
Antenor's brother, or perhaps his fon.
He fpake, and fmil'd fevere, for well he knew
The bleeding youth: Troy fadden'd at the view.
But furious Acamas aveng'd his caufe;
As Promacus his fiaughter'd brother draws,
He pierc'd his heart-Such fate attends you all,
Proud Argives! destin'd by our arms to fall;
Not Troy alone, but haughty Greece fhall fhare
The toils, the forrows, and the wounds of war.
Behold your Promachus depriv'd of breath,
A victim ow'd to my brave brother's death.
Not unappeas'd he enters Pluto's gate,
Who leaves a brother to revenge his fate.
Heart-piercing anguish-struck the Grecian hoft,
But touch'd the breast of bold Peneleus most;
At the proud boaster he directs his course;
The boafter flies, and fhuns fuperior force.
But young Ilioneus receiv'd the spear;
Ilioneus, his father's only care.
(Phorbas the rich, of all the Trojan train
Whom Hermes lov'd, and taught the arts of gain):
Full in his eye the weapon chanc'd to fall,
And from the fibres scoop'd the rooted ball,
Drove through the neck, and hurl'd him to the plain
He lifts his miferable arms in vain!
Swift his broad faulchion fierce Peneleus spread,
And from the spouting shoulders struck his head;
To earth at once the head and helmet fly;
The lance, yet striking through the bleeding eye,
The victor feiz'd; and as aloft he shook
The gory vifage, thus infulting spoke :
Trojans your great Ilioneus behold!
Hafte, to his father let the tale be told:
Let his high roofs refound with frantic woe,
Such, as the house of Promachus must know;
Let doleful tidings greet his mother's ear,
Such, as to Promachus' fad fpouse we bear;
'When we victorious fhall to Greece return,
And the pale matron in our triumphs mourn.
Dreadful he spoke, then tofs'd the head on high;
The Trojans hear, they tremble, and they fly:
Aghaft they gaze around the fleet and wall,
And dread the ruin that impends on all.
Daughters of Jove! that on Olympus shine,
Ye all-beholding, all-recording Nine !
O fay, when Neptune made proud Ilion yield,
What chief, what hero, firft embrued the field?
Of all the Grecians what immortal name,
And whose bleft trophies will ye raise to fame ?
Thou firft, great Ajax; on th' enfanguin'd plain
Laid Hyrtius, leader of the Mysian train.
Phalces and Mermer, Neftor's fon o'erthrew,
Bold Merion, Morys, and Hippotion slew.
Strong Periphates and Prothoön bled,
By Teucer's arrows mingled with the dead.
Pierc'd in the flank by Menelaüs' steel,
His people's paftor, Hyperenor, fell;
Eternal darkness wrapt the warriour round,
And the fierce foul came rushing through the wound. But ftretch'd in heaps before Oïleus' son,
Fall mighty numbers, mighty numbers run;
Ajax the lefs, of all the Grecian race
Skill'd in pursuit, and swiftest in the chace.
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