To whom the son of Jove: "That god implore,
And be what great Achilles was before.
From heavenly Venus thou derivest thy strain,
And he but from a sister of the main;
An aged sea-god, father of his line;

But Jove himself the sacred source of thine.
Then lift thy weapon for a noble blow,
Nor fear the vaunting of a mortal foe."

This said, and spirit breathed into his breast, Through the thick troops the embolden'd hero press'd;

His venturous act the white-arm'd queen survey'd, And thus, assembling all the powers, she said:

"Behold an action, gods! that claims your care, Lo great Æneas rushing to the war! Against Pelides he directs his course, Phoebus impels, and Phoebus gives him force. Restrain his bold career; at least, to attend Our favour'd hero, let some power descend. To guard his life, and add to his renown, We, the great armament of heaven, came down. Hereafter let him fall, as fates design, That spun so short his life's illustrious line: But lest some adverse god now cross his way, Give him to know what powers assist this day: For how shall mortal stand the dire alarms, When heaven's refulgent host appear in arms?" Thus she; and thus the god whose force can make

The solid globe's eternal basis shake:

"Against the might of man, so feeble known,
Why should celestial powers exert their own?
Suffice from yonder mount to view the scene,
And leave to war the fates of mortal men.
But if the armipotent, or god of light,
Obstruct Achilles, or commence the fight,
Thence on the gods of Troy we swift descend:
Full soon, I doubt not, shall the conflict end,
And these, in ruin and confusion hurl'd,
Yield to our conquering arms the lower world."

Thus having said, the tyrant of the sea,
Cærulean Neptune, rose, and led the way.
Advanced upon the field there stood a mound
Of earth congested, wall'd, and trench'd around;
In elder times to guard Alcides made,
(The work of Trojans, with Minerva's aid)
What time a vengeful monster of the main
Swept the wide shore, and drove him to the plain.
Here Neptune and the gods of Greece repair,
With clouds encompass'd, and a veil of air:
The adverse powers, around Apollo laid,
Crown the fair hills that silver Simois shade.
In circle close each heavenly party sat,
Intent to form the future scheme of fate;
But mix not yet in fight, though Jove on high
Gives the loud signal, and the heavens reply.
Meanwhile the rushing armies hide the ground;
The trampled centre yields a hollow sound:
Steeds cased in mail, and chiefs in armour bright,
The gleamy champaign glows with brazen light.
Amid both hosts (a dreadful space) appear,
There great Achilles; bold Æneas, here.
With towering strides Æneas first advanced;
The nodding plumage on his helmet danced;
Spread o'er his breast the fencing shield he bore,
And, as he moved, his javelin flamed before.
Not so Pelides; furious to engage,
He rush'd impetuous. Such the lion's rage,
Who viewing first his foes with scornful eyes,
Though all in arms the peopled city rise,

Stalks careless on, with unregarding pride;
Till at the length, by some brave youth defied,
To his bold spear the savage turns alone,
He murmurs fury with a hollow groan;
He grins, he foams, he rolls his eyes around;
Lash'd by his tail his heaving sides resound;
He calls up all his rage; he grinds his teeth,
Resolved on vengeance, or resolved on death.
So fierce Achilles on Æneas flies;
So stands Æneas, and his force defies.
Ere yet the stern encounter join'd, begun
The seed of Thetis thus to Venus' son.

Why comes Æneas through the ranks so far! Seeks he to meet Achilles' arm in war, In hope the realms of Priam to enjoy, And prove his merits to the throne of Troy! Grant that beneath thy lance Achilles dies, The partial monarch may refuse the prize; Sons he has many; those thy pride may quell: And 'tis his fault to love those sons too well. Or, in reward of thy victorious hand, Has Troy proposed some spacious tract of land! An ample forest, or a fair domain, Of hills for vines, and arable for grain? Even this, perhaps, will hardly prove thy lot. But can Achilles be so soon forgot? Once (as I think) you saw this brandish'd spear, And then the great Æneas seem'd to fear: With hearty haste from Ida's mount he fled, Nor, till he reach'd Lyrnessus, turn'd his head. Her lofty walls not long our progress stay'd; Those, Pallas, Jove, and we, in ruins laid: In Grecian chains her captive race were cast; "Tis true, the great Eneas fled too fast. Defrauded of my conquest once before, What then I lost, the gods this day restore. Go; while thou may'st, avoid the threaten'd fate; Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late."

To this Anchises' son: "Such words employ To one that fears thee, some unwarlike boy; Such we disdain; the best may be defied With mean reproaches, and unmanly pride; Unworthy the high race from which we came, Proclaim'd so loudly by the voice of fame: Each from illustrious fathers draws his line; Each goddess-born; half human, half divine. Thetis' this day, or Venus' offspring dies, And tears shall trickle from celestial eyes: For when two heroes, thus derived, contend, "Tis not in words the glorious strife can end. If yet thou further seek to learn my birth (A tale resounded through the spacious earth) Hear how the glorious origin we prove From ancient Dardanus, the first from Jove: Dardania's walls he raised; for Ilion, then, (The city since of many-languaged men) Was not. The natives were content to till The shady foot of Ida's fountful hill. From Dardanus great Erichthonius springs, The richest, once, of Asia's wealthy kings; Three thousand mares his spacious pastures bred, Three thousand foals beside their mothers fed. Boreas, enamour'd of the sprightly train, Conceal'd his godhead in a flowing mane, With voice dissembled to his loves he neigh'd, And coursed the dappled beauties o'er the mead: Hence sprung twelve others of unrival'd kind, Swift as their mother mares, and father wind. These lightly skimming, when they swept the plain, Nor plied the grass, nor bent the tender grain;

And when along the level seas they flew,
Scarce on the surface curl'd the briny dew.
Such Erichthonius was: from him there came
The sacred Tros, of whom the Trojan name.
Three sons renown'd adorn'd his nuptial bed,
Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymed:

The matchless Ganymed, divinely fair,
Whom heaven, enamour'd, snatch'd to upper air,
To bear the cup of Jove (ethereal guest,
The grace and glory of the ambrosial feast.)
The two remaining sons the line divide:
First rose Laomedon from Ilus' side;
From him Tithonus, now in cares grown old,
And Priam, bless'd with Hector, brave and bold;
Clytius and Lampus, ever-honour'd pair;
And Hicetaon, thunderbolt of war.
From great Assaracus sprang Capys, he
Begat Anchises, and Anchises me.

Such is our race: 'tis fortune gives us birth,
But Jove alone endues the soul with worth:
He, source of power and might! with boundless
sway,

All human courage gives, or takes away.
Long in the field of words we may contend,
Reproach is infinite, and knows no end,
Arm'd or with truth or falsehood, right or wrong;
So voluble a weapon is the tongue;
Wounded, we wound; and neither side can fail,
For every man has equal strength to rail:
Women alone, when in the streets they jar,
Perhaps excel us in this wordy war;
Like us they stand, encompass'd with the crowd,
And vent their anger impotent and loud.
Cease then-Our business in the field of fight
Is not to question, but to prove our might.
To all those insults thou hast offer'd here,
Receive this answer: 'tis my flying spear."
He spoke. With all his force the javelin flung,
Fix'd deep, and loudly in the buckler rung.
Far on his outstretch'd arm, Pelides held
(To meet the thundering lance) his dreadful shield,
That trembled as it stuck; nor void of fear
Saw, ere it fell, the immeasurable spear.
His fears were vain; impenetrable charms
Secured the temper of the ethereal arms.
Through two strong plates the point its passage held,
But stopp'd, and rested, by the third repell'd.
Five plates of various metal, various mould,
Composed the shield; of brass each outward fold,
Of tin each inward, and the middle gold:
There stuck the lance. Then rising ere he threw,
The forceful spear of great Achilles flew,
And pierced the Dardan shield's extremest bound,
Where the shrill brass return'd a sharper sound:
Through the thin verge the Pelean weapon glides,
And the slight covering of expanded hides.
Eneas his contracted body bends,

And o'er him high the riven targe extends,
Sees, through its parting plates, the upper air,
And at his back perceives the quivering spear:
A fate so near him, chills his soul with fright;
And swims before his eyes the many-colour'd light.
Achilles, rushing in with dreadful cries,
Draws his broad blade, and at Æneas flies:
Eneas rousing as the foe came on,
With force collected, heaves a mighty stone:
A mass enormous! which in modern days
No two of earth's degenerate sons could raise.
But ocean's god, whose earthquakes rock the ground,
Saw the distress, and moved the powers around:

"Lo! on the brink of fate Æneas stands, An instant victim to Achilles' hands; By Phoebus urged; but Phoebus has bestow'd His aid in vain: the man o'erpowers the god. And can ye see this righteous chief atone With guiltless blood for vices not his own? To all the gods his constant vows were paid; Sure, though he wars for Troy, he claims our aid. Fate wills not this; nor thus can Jove resign The future father of the Dardan line: The first great ancestor obtain'd his grace, And still his love descends on all the race: For Priam now, and Priam's faithless kind, At length are odious to the all-seeing mind; On great Æneas shall devolve the reign, And sons succeeding sons the lasting line sustain." The great earth-shaker thus: to whom replies The imperial goddess with the radiant eyes: "Good as he is, to immolate or spare The Dardan prince, O Neptune! be thy care; Pallas and I, by all that gods can bind, Have sworn destruction to the Trojan kind; Not even an instant to protract their fate, Or save one member of the sinking state; Till her last flame be quench'd with her last gore, And even her crumbling ruins are no more.'

The king of ocean to the fight descends,
Through all the whistling darts his course he bends,
Swift interposed between the warriors flies,
And casts thick darkness o'er Achilles' eyes.
From great Æneas' shield the spear he drew,
And at his master's feet the weapon threw.
That done, with force divine he snatch'd on high
The Dardan prince, and bore him through the
sky,

Smooth-gliding without step, above the heads
Of warring heroes, and of bounding steeds:
Till at the battle's utmost verge they light,
Where the slow Caucans close the rear of fight.
The godhead there (his heavenly form confess'd)
With words like these the panting chief address'd:

"What power, O prince! with force inferior far
Urged thee to meet Achilles' arm in war?
Henceforth beware, nor antedate thy doom,
Defrauding fate of all thy fame to come.
But when the day decreed (for come it must)
Shall lay this dreadful hero in the dust,
Let then the furies of that arm be known,
Secure no Grecian force transcends thy own."
With that, he left him wondering as he lay,
Then from Achilles chased the mist away':
Sudden, returning with the stream of light,
The scene of war came rushing on his sight.
Then thus, amazed: "What wonders strike my
mind!

My spear, that parted on the wings of wind,
Laid here before me! and the Dardan lord,
That fell this instant, vanish'd from my sword!
I thought alone with mortals to contend,
But powers celestial sure this foe defend.
Great as he is, our arms he scarce will try,
Content for once, with all his gods, to fly.
Now then let others bleed." This said, aloud
He vents his fury, and inflames the crowd:
"O Greeks (he cries, and every rank alarms)
Join battle, man to man, and arms to arms!
"Tis not in me, though favour'd by the sky,
To mow whole troops, and make whole armies fly:
No god can singly such a host engage,
Not Mars himself, nor great Minerva's rage.

But whatsoe'er Achilles can inspire,
Whate'er of active force, or acting fire;
Whate'er this heart can prompt, or hand obey;
All, all Achilles, Greeks! is yours to-day.
Through yon wide host this arm shall scatter fear,
And thin the squadrons with my single spear."

He said: nor less elate with martial joy,
The godlike Hector warm'd the troops of Troy:
"Trojans, to war! Think, Hector leads you on;
Nor dread the vaunts of Peleus' haughty son.
Deeds must decide our fate. E'en those with words
Insult the brave, who tremble at their swords:
The weakest atheist-wretch all heaven defies,
But shrinks and shudders when the thunder flies.
Nor from yon boaster shall your chief retire,
Not though his heart were steel, his hands were fire;
That fire, that steel, your Hector should withstand,
And brave that vengeful heart, that dreadful hand."
Thus (breathing rage through all) the hero said;
A wood of lances rises round his head,
Clamours on clamours tempest all the air,
They join, they throng, they thicken to the war.
But Phoebus warns him from high heaven to shun
The single fight with Thetis' godlike son;
More safe to combat in the mingled band,
Nor tempt too near the terrors of his hand.
He hears, obedient to the god of light,
And, plunged within the ranks, awaits the fight.
Then fierce Achilles, shouting to the skies,
On Troy's whole force with boundless fury flies.
First falls Iphytion, at his army's head;
Brave was the chief, and brave the host he led;
From great Otrynteus he derived his blood,
His mother was a Naïs of the flood;
Beneath the shades of Tmolus, crown'd with snow,
From Hyde's walls he ruled the lands below.
Fierce as he springs, the sword his head divides:
The parted visage falls on equal sides :
With loud-resounding arms he strikes the plain;
While thus Achilles glories o'er the slain:

"Lie there, Otryntides! the Trojan earth Receives thee dead, though Gygae boast thy birth; Those beauteous fields where Hyllus'waves are roll'd, And plenteous Hermus swells with tides of gold, Are thine no more."-The insulting hero said, And left him sleeping in eternal shade. The rolling wheels of Greece the body tore, And dash'd their axles with no vulgar gore.

Demoleon next, Antenor's offspring, laid Breathless in dust, the price of rashness paid. The impatient steel with full-descending sway Forced through his brazen helm its furious way, Resistless drove the batter'd skull before, And dash'd and mingled all the brains with gore. This sees Hippodamas, and, seized with fright, Deserts his chariot for a swifter flight: The lance arrests him: an ignoble wound The panting Trojan rivets to the ground. He groans away his soul: not louder roars, At Neptune's shrine on Helice's high shores, The victim bull; the rocks rebellow round, And ocean listens to the grateful sound.

Then fell on Polydore his vengeful rage, The youngest hope of Priam's stooping age: (Whose feet for swiftness in the race surpast) Of all his sons, the dearest, and the last. To the forbidden field he takes his flight, In the first folly of a youthful knight, To vaunt his swiftness wheels around the plain, But vaunts not long, with all his swiftness slain:

Struck where the crossing belts unite behind,
And golden rings the double back-plate join'd,
Forth through the navel burst the thrilling steel;
And on his knees with piercing shrieks he fell ;
The rushing entrails pour'd upon the ground
His hands collect; and darkness wraps him round.
When Hector view'd, all ghastly in his gore,
Thus sadly slain the unhappy Polydore,
A cloud of sorrow overcast his sight,
His soul no longer brook'd the distant fight:
Full in Achilles' dreadful front he came,
And shook his javelin like a waving flame.
The son of Peleus sees, with joy possess'd,
His heart high-bounding in his rising breast:
And, lo! the man, on whom black fates attend;
The man, that slew Achilles, in his friend!
No more shall Hector's and Pelides' spear
Turn from each other in the walks of war"-
Then with revengeful eyes he scann'd him o'er:
"Come, and receive thy fate!" He spake no

66

more.

Hector, undaunted, thus: "Such words emphy To one that dreads thee, some unwarlike boy: Such we could give, defying and defied, Mean intercourse of obloquy and pride! I know thy force to mine superior far; But heaven alone confers success in war: Mean as I am, the gods may guide my dart, And give it entrance in a braver heart."

Then parts the lance: but Pallas' heavenly breath Far from Achilles wafts the winged death: The bidden dart again to Hector flies, And at the feet of its great master lies. Achilles closes with his hated foe, His heart and eyes with flaming fury glow: But present to his aid, Apollo shrouds The favour'd hero in a veil of clouds. Thrice struck Pelides with indignant heart, Thrice in impassive air he plunged the dart; The spear a fourth time buried in the cloud, He foams with fury, and exclaims aloud: "Wretch ! thou hast 'scaped again, once more thy flight

Has saved thee, and the partial god of light.
But long thou shalt not thy just fate withstand,
If any power assist Achilles' hand.

Fly then inglorious! but thy flight this day
Whole hecatombs of Trojan ghosts shall pay."

With that, he gluts his rage on numbers slain:
Then Dryops tumbled to the ensanguined plain,
Pierced through the neck: he left him panting there,
And stopp'd Demuchus, great Philetor's heir,
Gigantic chief! deep gash'd the enormous blade,
And for the soul an ample passage made.
Laoganus and Dardanus expire,
The valiant sons of an unhappy sire;
Both in one instant from the chariot hurl❜d,
Sunk in one instant to the nether world:
This difference only their sad fates afford,
That one the spear destroy'd, and one the sword.
Nor less unpitied, young Alastor bleeds;
In vain his youth, in vain his beauty pleads;
In vain he begs thee, with a suppliant's moan,
To spare a form, an age so like thy own!
Unhappy boy! no prayer, no moving art,
E'er bent that fierce, inexorable heart!
While yet he trembled at his knees, and cried,
The ruthless falchion oped his tender side;
The panting liver pours a flood of gore
That drowns his bosom till he pants no more.

spear;

The warrior falls, transfix'd from ear to ear,
Thy life, Echeclus! next the sword bereaves,
Deep thro' the front the ponderous falchion cleaves;
Warm'd in the brain the smoking weapon lies,
The purple death comes floating o'er his eyes.
Then brave Deucalion died: the dart was flung
Where the knit nerves the pliant elbow strung;
He dropp'd his arm, an unassisting weight,
And stood all impotent, expecting fate:
Full on his neck the falling falchion sped,
From his broad shoulders hew'd his crested head:
Forth from the bone the spinal marrow flies,
And, sunk in dust, the corpse extended lies.
Rhigmus, whose race from fruitful Thracia came,
(The son of Pireus, an illustrious name)
Succeeds to fate: the spear his belly rends;
Prone from his car the thundering chief descends.
The squire, who saw expiring on the ground
His prostrate master, rein'd the steeds around;
His back, scarce turn'd, the Pelian javelin gored,
And stretch'd the servant o'er his dying lord.
As when a flame the winding valley fills,
And runs on crackling shrubs between the hills;
Then o'er the stubble up the mountain flies,
Fires the high woods, and blazes to the skies,
This way, and that, the spreading torrent roars:
So sweeps the hero through the wasted shores;
Around him wide, immense destruction pours,
And earth is deluged with the sanguine showers.
As with autumnal harvests cover'd o'er,
And thick bestrown, lies Ceres' sacred floor;
When round and round, with never-wearied pain,
The trampling steers beat out the unnumber'd grain:
So the fierce coursers, as the chariot rolls,
Tread down whole ranks, and crush out heroes' souls.
Dash'd from their hoofs while o'er the dead they fly,
Black, bloody drops the smoking chariot dye:
The spiky wheels through heaps of carnage tore;
And thick the groaning axles dropp'd with gore.
High o'er the scene of death Achilles stood,
All grim with dust, all horrible in blood:
Yet still insatiate, still with rage on flame;
Such is the lust of never-dying fame!

BOOK XXI.

ARGUMENT.

THE BATTLE IN THE RIVER SCAMANDER.

The Trojans fly before Achilles, some towards the town, others to the river Scamander: he falls upon the latter with great slaughter; takes twelve captives alive, to sacrifice to the shade of Patroclus; and kills Lycaon and Asteropeus. Scamander attacks him with all his waves: Neptune and Pallas assist the hero: Simoïs joins Scamander at length Vulcan, by the instigation of Juno, almost dries up the river. This combat ended, the other gods engage each other. Meanwhile Achilles continues the slaughter, drives the rest into Troy: Agenor only makes a stand, and is conveyed away in a cloud by Apollo; who (to delude Achilles) takes upon him Agenor's shape, and while he pursues him in that disguise, gives the Trojans an opportunity of retiring into their city.

The same day continues. The scene is on the banks and in the stream of Scamander.

AND now to Xanthus' gliding stream they drove, Xanthus, immortal progeny of Jove.

Part to the town fly diverse o'er the plain,
Where late their troops triumphant bore the fight,
Now chased, and trembling in ignoble flight :
(These with a gather'd mist Saturnia shrouds,
And rolls behind the rout a heap of clouds)
Part plunge into the stream: old Xanthus roars,
The flashing billows beat the whiten'd shores :
With cries promiscuous all the banks resound,
And here, and there, in eddies whirling round,
The flouncing steeds and shrieking warriors
drown'd.

As the scorch'd locusts from their fields retire,
While fast behind them runs the blaze of fire;
Driven from the land before the smoky cloud,
The clustering legions rush into the flood:
So, plunged in Xanthus by Achilles' force,
Roars the resounding surge with men and horse.
His bloody lance the hero casts aside,
(Which spreading tamarisks on the margin hide)
Then, like a god, the rapid billows braves,
Arm'd with his sword, high brandish'd o'er the

waves:

Now down he plunges, now he whirls it round,
Deep groan'd the waters with the dying sound;
Repeated wounds the reddening river dyed,
And the warm purple circled on the tide.
Swift through the foamy flood the Trojans fly,
And close in rocks or winding caverns lie:
So the huge dolphin tempesting the main,
In shoals before him fly the scaly train,
Confusedly heap'd they seek their inmost caves,
Or pant and heave beneath the floating waves.
Now, tired with slaughter, from the Trojan band
Twelve chosen youths he drags alive to land ;
With their rich belts their captive arms constrains
(Late their proud ornaments, but now their chains.)
These his attendants to the ships convey'd,
Sad victims destined to Patroclus' shade!

Then, as once more he plunged amid the flood,
The young Lycaon in his passage stood;
The son of Priam; whom the hero's hand
But late made captive in his father's land
(As from a sycamore, his sounding steel
Lopp'd the green arms to spoke a chariot wheel ;)
To Lemnos' isle he sold the royal slave,
Where Jason's son the price demanded gave;
But kind Eëtion, touching on the shore,
The ransom'd prince to fair Arisbè bore.
Ten days were past, since in his father's reign
He felt the sweets of liberty again;

The next, that god whom men in vain withstand Gives the same youth to the same conquering

hand;

Now never to return! and doom'd to go
A sadder journey to the shades below.
His well-known face when great Achilles eyed,
(The helm and visor he had cast aside
With wild affright, and dropp'd upon the field
His useless lance and unavailing shield)
As trembling, panting, from the stream he fled,
And knock'd his faltering knees, the hero said:
"Ye mighty gods! what wonders strike my view!
Is it in vain our conquering arms subdue ?
Sure I shall see yon heaps of Trojans kill'd
Rise from the shades, and brave me on the field:
As now the captive, whom so late I bound
And sold to Lemnos, stalks on Trojan ground!
Not him the sea's unmeasured deeps detain,
That bar such numbers from their native plain :

Lo! he returns. Try, then, my flying spear!
Try, if the grave can hold the wanderer;
If earth at length this active prince can seize,
Earth, whose strong grasp has held down Hercules."
Thus while he spoke, the Trojan pale with fears
Approach'd, and sought his knees with suppliant

tears;

Loth as he was to yield his youthful breath,
And his soul shivering at the approach of death.
Achilles raised the spear, prepared to wound;
He kiss'd his feet, extended on the ground:
And while, above, the spear suspended stood,
Longing to dip its thirsty point in blood,
One hand embraced them close, one stopp'd the dart,
While thus these melting words attempt his heart:
"Thy well-known captive, great Achilles! see,
Once more Lycaon trembles at thy knee.
Some pity to a suppliant's name afford,
Who shared the gifts of Ceres at thy board;
Whom late thy conquering arm to Lemnos bore,
Far from his father, friends, and native shore;
A hundred oxen were his price that day,
Now sums immense thy mercy shall repay.
Scarce respited from woes I yet appear,
And scarce twelve morning suns have seen me
Lo! Jove again submits me to thy hands,
Again, her victim cruel fate demands!
I sprang from Priam, and Laothöe fair,
(Old Altès' daughter, and Lelegia's heir;
Who held in Pedasus his famed abode,

[here;

And ruled the fields where silver Satnio flow'd)
Two sons (alas! unhappy sons) she bore;
For ah! one spear shall drink each brother's gore,
And I succeed to slaughter'd Polydore.
How from that arm of terror shall I fly?
Some demon urges ! 'tis my doom to die!
If ever yet soft pity touch'd thy mind,

Ah! think not me too much of Hector's kind!
Not the same mother gave thy suppliant breath,
With his, who wrought thy loved Patroclus' death."

These words, attended with a shower of tears, The youth address'd to unrelenting ears: "Talk not of life, or ransom (he replies) Patroclus dead, whoever meets me, dies: In vain a single Trojan sues for grace; But least, the sons of Priam's hateful race. Die then, my friend! what boots it to deplore? The great, the good Patroclus is no more! He, far thy better, was foredoom'd to die, And thou, dost thou bewail mortality? Seest thou not me, whom nature's gifts adorn, Sprung from a hero, from a goddess born? The day shall come (which nothing can avert) When by the spear, the arrow, or the dart, By night, or day, by force, or by design, Impending death and certain fate are mine! Die then"-He said; and as the word he spoke, The fainting stripling sank before the stroke: His hand forgot its grasp, and left the spear, While all his trembling frame confess'd his fear: Sudden, Achilles his broad sword display'd, And buried in his neck the reeking blade. Prone fell the youth; and panting on the land, The gushing purple dyed the thirsty sand. The victor to the stream the carcase gave, And thus insults him, floating on the wave:

"Lie there, Lycaon! let the fish surround Thy bloated corpse, and suck thy gory wound: There no sad mother shall thy funerals weep, But swift Scamander roll thee to the deep,

Whose every wave some watery monster brings,
To feast unpunish'd on the fat of kings.
So perish Troy, and all the Trojan line!
Such ruin theirs, and such compassion mine.
What boots ye now Scamander's worship'd stream,
His earthly honours, and immortal name?
In vain your immolated bulls are slain,
Your living coursers glut his gulfs in vain!
Thus he rewards you, with this bitter fate;
Thus, till the Grecian vengeance is complete:
Thus is atoned Patroclus' honour'd shade,
And the short absence of Achilles paid."

These boastful words provoked the raging god;
With fury swells the violated flood.
What means divine may yet the power employ
To check Achilles, and to rescue Troy?
Meanwhile the hero springs in arms, to dare
The great Asteropeus to mortal war;
The son of Pelagon, whose lofty line
Flows from the source of Axius, stream divine!
(Fair Peribæa's love the god had crown'd,
With all his refluent waters circled round)
On him Achilles rush'd: he fearless stood,
And shook two spears, advancing from the flood;
The flood impell'd him, on Pelides' head
To avenge his waters choked with heaps of dead.
Near as they drew, Achilles thus began:

"What art thou, boldest of the race of man! Who, or from whence? Unhappy is the sire, Whose son encounters our resistless ire."

"O son of Peleus! what avails to trace (Replied the warrior) our illustrious race? From rich Pæonia's valleys I command, Arm'd with protended spears, my native band; Now shines the tenth bright morning since I came In aid of Ilion to the fields of fame:

Axius, who swells with all the neighbouring rills,
And wide around the floated region fills,
Begot my sire, whose spear much glory won:
Now lift thy arm, and try that hero's son!"

Threatening he said: the hostile chiefs ad

vance;

At once Asteropeus discharged each lance,
(For both his dexterous hands the lance could
wield)

One struck, but pierced not, the Vulcanian shield;
One razed Achilles' hand: the spouting blood
Spun forth; in earth the fasten'd weapon stood.
Like lightning next the Pelean javelin flies:
Its erring fury hiss'd along the skies;
Deep in the swelling bank was driven the spear,
Even to the middle earth'd; and quiver'd there.
Then from his side the sword Pelides drew,
And on his foe with doubled fury flew.
The foe thrice tugg'd, and shook the rooted wood;
Repulsive of his might the weapon stood:
The fourth, he tries to break the spear, in vain;
Bent as he stands, he tumbles to the plain;
His belly open'd with a ghastly wound,
The reeking entrails pour upon the ground.
Beneath the hero's feet he panting lies,
And his eye darkens, and his spirit flies;
While the proud victor thus triumphing said,
His radiant armour tearing from the dead:

"So ends thy glory! Such the fate they prove,
Who strive presumptuous with the sons of Jove!
Sprung from a river, didst thou boast thy line!
But great Saturnius is the source of mine.
How durst thou vaunt thy watery progeny!
Of Peleus, Eacus, and Jove, am I;