The Twentieth Book of the Iliad

Thus round Pelides breathing and Blood, Greece sheath'd in Arms, beside her Vessels stood; While near impending from a neighb'ring Height, Troy's black Battalions wait the Shock of Fight. Then Jove to Themis gives Command, to call The Gods to Council in the starry Hall: Swift o'er Olympus hundred Hills she flies, And summons all the Senate of the Skies. These shining on, in long Procession come To Joves eternal Adamantine Dome. Not one was absent; not a Rural Pow'r That haunts the verdant Gloom, or rosy Bow'r, Each fair-hair'd Dryad of the shady Wood, Each azure Sister of the silver Flood; All but old Ocean, hoary Sire! who keeps His ancient Seat beneath the sacred Deeps. On Marble Thrones with lucid Columns crown'd, (The Work of Vulcan) sate the Gods around. Ev'n He whose Trident sways the watry Reign, Heard the loud Summons, and forsook the Main, Assum'd his Throne amid the bright Abodes, And question'd thus the Sire of Men and Gods.

What moves the God who Heav'n and Earth commands, And grasps the Thunder in his awful Hands, Thus to convene the whole aetherial State? Is Greece and Troy the Subject in debate? Already met, the low'ring Hosts appear, And Death stands ardent on the Edge of War.

'Tis true (the Cloud-compelling Pow'r replies) This Day, we call the Council of the Skies In Care of human Race; ev'n Jove's own Eye Sees with Regret unhappy Mortals die. Far on Olympus' Top in secret State Ourself will sit, and see the Hand of Fate Work out our Will. Celestial Pow'rs! descend, And as your Minds direct, your Succour lend To either Host. Troy soon must lye o'erthrown, If uncontroll'd Achilles fights alone: Their Troops but lately durst not meet his Eyes; What can they now, if in his Rage he rise? Assist them Gods! or Ilion's sacred Wall May fall this Day, tho' Fate forbids the Fall.

He said, and fir'd their heav'nly Breasts with Rage: On adverse Parts the warring Gods engage. Heav'ns awful Queen; and He whose azure Round Girds the vast Globe; the Maid in Arms renown'd; Hermes, of profitable Arts the Sire, And Vulcan, the black Sov'reign of the Fire: These to the Fleet repair with instant Flight, The Vessels tremble as the Gods alight. In aid of Troy, Latona, Phoebus came, Mars fiery-helm'd, the Laughter-loving Dame, Xanthus whose Streams in golden Currents flow, And the chast Huntress of the silver Bow. E'er yet the Gods their various Aid employ, Each Argive Bosom swell'd with manly Joy, While great Achilles, (Terror of the Plain) Long lost to Battel, shone in Arms again. Dreadful he stood in Front of all his Host; Pale Troy beheld, and seem'd already lost; Her bravest Heroes pant with inward Fear, And trembling see another God of War.

But when the Pow'rs descending swell'd the Fight, Then Tumult rose; fierce Rage and pale Affright Vary'd each Face; then Discord sounds Alarms, Earth echoes, and the Nations rush to Arms. Now thro' the trembling Shores Minerva calls. And now she thunders from the Grecian Walls. Mars hov'ring o'er his Troy, his Terror shrouds In gloomy Tempests, and a Night of Clouds: Now thro' each Trojan Heart he Fury pours With Voice divine from Ilion's topmost Towr's, Now shouts to Simois, from her beauteous * Hill; The Mountain shook, the rapid Stream stood still. Above, the Sire of Gods his Thunder rolls, And Peals on Peals redoubled rend the Poles. Beneath, stern Neptune shakes the solid Ground, The Forests wave, the Mountains nod around; Thro' all their Summits tremble Ida's Woods, And from their Sources boil her hundred Floods. Troy's Turrets totter on the rocking Plain; And the toss'd Navies beat the heaving Main. Deep in the dismal Regions of the Dead, Th'infernal Monarch rear'd his horrid Head, Leap'd from his Throne, lest Neptunes Arm should lay His dark Dominions open to the Day, And pour in Light on Pluto's drear Abodes, Abhorr'd by Men, and dreadful ev'n to Gods.

Such War th'Immortals wage: Such Horrors rend The World's vast Concave, when the Gods contend. First silver-shafted Phoebus took the Plain Against blue Neptune, Monarch of the Main: The God of Arms his Giant Bulk display'd, Oppos'd to Pallas, War's triumphant Maid. Against Latona march'd the Son of May; The quiver'd Dian, Sister of the Day, (Her golden Arrows sounding at her side) Saturnia, Majesty of Heav'n, defy'd. With fiery Vulcan last in Battle stands The sacred Flood that rolls on golden Sands; Xanthus his Name with those of heavenly Birth, But call'd Scamander by the Sons of Earth.

While thus the Gods in various League engage, Achilles glow'd with more than mortal Rage: Hector he sought; in search of Hector turn'd His Eyes around, for Hector only burn'd; And burst like Light'ning thro' the Ranks, and vow'd To glut the God of Battles with his Blood.

Aeneas was the first who dar'd to stay; Apollo wedg'd him in the Warrior's Way, But swell'd his Bosom with undaunted Might, Half-forc'd, and half-persuaded to the Fight. Like young Lycaon, of the Royal Line, In Voice and Aspect, seem'd the Pow'r divine; And bade the Chief reflect, how late with Scorn In distant Threats he brav'd the Goddess-born.

Then thus the Hero of Anchises' Strain. To meet Pelides you persuade in vain: Already have I met, nor void of Fear Observ'd the Fury of his flying Spear; From Ida's Woods he chas'd us to the Field, Our Force he scatter'd, and our Herds he kill'd; Lyrnessus, Pedasus in Ashes lay; But (Jove assisting) I surviv'd the Day. Else had I sunk opprest in fatal Fight, By fierce Achilles and Minerva's Might. Where'ere he mov'd, the Goddess shone before, And bath'd his brazen Lance in hostile Gore. What mortal Man Achilles can sustain? Th'Immortals guard him thro' the dreadful Plain, And suffer not his Dart to fall in vain. Were God my Aid, this Arm should check his Pow'r, Tho' strong in Battel as a brazen Tow'r.

To whom the Son of Jove, That God implore, And be, what great Achilles was before. From heav'nly Venus thou deriv'st 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 breath'd into his Breast, Thro' the thick Troops th'embolden'd Hero prest: His vent'rous Act the white-arm'd Queen survey'd, And thus, assembling all the Pow'rs, she said.

Behold an Action, Gods! that claims your Care, Lo great Aeneas rushing to the War; Against Pelides he directs his Course, Phoebus impells, and Phoebus gives him Force. Restrain his bold Career; at least, t'attend Our favour'd Hero, let some Pow'r descend. To guard his Life, and add to his Renown, We, the great Armament of Heav'n 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 Pow'rs assist this Day: For how shall Mortal stand the dire Alarms, When Heav'ns 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 shou'd coelestial Pow'rs exert their own? Suffice, from yonder Mount to view the Scene; And leave to War the Fates of mortal Men. But if th' 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 conqu'ring Arms the lower World.

Thus having said, the Tyrant of the Sea Coerulean Neptune, rose, and led the Way. Advanc'd 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 Pow'rs, around Apollo laid, Crown the fair Hills that silver Simois shade. In Circle close each heav'nly Party sate, Intent to form the future Scheme of Fate; But mix not yet in Fight, tho' Jove on high Gives the loud signal, and the Heav'ns reply.

Meanwhile the rushing Armies hide the Ground; The trampled Center yields a hollow Sound: Steeds cas'd in Mail, and Chiefs in Armour bright, The gleamy Champain glows with brazen Light. Amid both Hosts (a dreadful Space) appear There, great Achilles, bold Aeneas here. With tow'ring Strides Aeneas first advanc'd; The nodding Plumage on his Helmet danc'd, Spread o'er his Breast the fencing Shield he bore, And, as he mov'd, his Jav'lin flam'd before. Not so Pelides; furious to engage, He rush'd impetuous. Such the Lion's Rage, Who viewing first his Foes with scornful Eyes, Tho' all in Arms the peopled City rise, Stalks careless on, with unregarding Pride; Till at the length, by some brave Youth defy'd, To His bold Spear the Savage turns alone, He murmurs Fury with an 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, Resolv'd on Vengeance, or resolv'd on Death. So fierce Achilles on Aeneas flies; So stands Aeneas, and his Force defies. E'er yet the stern Encounter join'd, begun The Seed of Thetis thus to Venus' Son.

Why comes Aeneas thro' 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 propos'd some spacious Tract of Land? An ample Forest, or a fair Domain, Of Hills for Vines, and Arable for Grain? Ev'n 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 Aeneas 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 Aeneas 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 defy'd 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 coelestial Eyes: For when two Heroes, thus deriv'd, contend, 'Tis not in Words the glorious strife can end. If yet thou farther seek to learn my Birth (A Tale resounded thro' the spacious Earth) Hear how the glorious Origine we prove From ancient Dardanus, the first from Jove: Dardania's Walls he rais'd; for Ilion, then, (The City since of many-languag'd Men) Was not. The Natives were content to till The shady Foot of Ida's Fount-ful 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 cours'd 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 ply'd 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 (Aetherial Guest) The Grace and Glory of th'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, (blest with Hector, brave and bold:) Clytius and Lampus, ever-honour'd Pair; And Hicetaon, Thunderbolt of War. From great Assaracus sprung 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 Pow'r 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 Falshood, Right or Wrong, So voluble a Weapon is the Tongue; Wounded, we wound; and neither side can fail, For ev'ry 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 Jav'lin flung, Fix'd deep, and loudly in the Buckler rung. Far on his out-stretch'd Arm, Pelides held (To meet the thund'ring Lance) his dreadful Shield, That trembled as it stuck; nor void of Fear Saw, e'er it fell, th'immeasurable Spear. His Fears were vain; impenetrable Charms Secur'd the Temper of th'Aetherial Arms. Thro' two strong Plates the Point its Passage held, But stopp'd, and rested, by the third repell'd; Five Plates of various Metal, various Mold, Compos'd the Shield; of Brass each outward Fold, Of Tin each inward, and the middle Gold: There stuck the Lance. Then rising e'er he threw, The forceful Spear of great Achilles flew, And pierc'd the Dardan Shield's extremest Bound, Where the shrill Brass return'd a sharper Sound: Thro' the thin Verge the Pelian Weapon glides, And the slight Cov'ring of expanded Hydes. Aeneas his contracted Body bends, And o'er him high the riven Targe extends, Sees, thro' its parting Plates, the upper Air, And at his Back perceives the quiv'ring 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 Aeneas flies: Aeneas rouzing as the Foe came on, (With Force collected) heaves a mighty Stone: A Mass enormous! which in modern Days No two of Earth's degen'rate Sons could raise But Ocean's God, whose Earthquakes rock the Ground, Saw the Distress, and mov'd the Pow'rs around.

Lo! on the Brink of Fate Aeneas stands, An instant Victim to Achilles Hands: By Phoebus urg'd; but Phoebus has bestow'd His Aid in vain: The Man o'erpow'rs the God. And can ye see this righteous Chief attone With guiltless Blood, for Vices not his own? To all the Gods his constant Vows were paid; Sure, tho' 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 th'all-seeing Mind; On great Aeneas shall devolve the Reign, And Sons succeeding Sons, the lasting Line sustain.

The great Earth-shaker thus: To whom replies Th'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 ev'n 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 ev'n her crumbling Ruins are no more.

The King of Ocean to the Fight descends, Thro' all the whistling Darts his Course he bends, Swift interpos'd between the Warriors flies, And casts thick Darkness o'er Achilles' Eyes. From great Aeneas' Shield the Spear he drew, And at its Master's Feet the Weapon threw. That done, with Force divine, he snatch'd on high The Dardan Prince, and bore him thro' the Sky, Smooth-gliding without Step, above the Heads, Of warring Heroes, and of bounding Steeds. Till at the Battel's utmost Verge they light, Where the slow Caucons close the Rear of Fight. The Godhead there (his heav'nly Form confess'd) With Words like these the panting Chief address'd.

What Pow'r, O Prince, with Force inferior far, Urg'd 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 wond'ring as he lay, Then from Achilles chas'd the Mist away: Sudden, returning with the Stream of Light, The Scene of War came rushing on his Sight. Then thus, amaz'd: 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 Pow'rs coelestial sure this Foe defend. Great as he is, our Arm 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 Battel, Man to Man, and Arms to Arms! 'Tis not in me, tho' 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. Thro' 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 god-like 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. Ev'n those with Words Insult the Brave, who tremble at their Swords: The weakest Atheist-Wretch all Heav'n defies, But shrinks and shudders, when the Thunder flies. Nor from yon' Boaster shall your Chief retire, Not tho' his Heart were Steel, his Hands were Fire; That Fire, that Steel, your Hector shou'd withstand, And brave that vengeful Heart, that dreadful Hand.

Thus, breathing Rage thro' all the Hero said; A Wood of Lances rises round his Head, Clamors on Clamors tempest all the Air, They join, they throng, they thicken to the War. But Phoebus warns him from high Heav'n, to shun The single Fight with Thetis' god-like Son; More safe to combate in the mingled Band, Nor tempt too near the Terrors of his Hand. He hears, obedient to the God of Light, And plung'd 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 deriv'd his Blood, His Mother was a Nais of the Flood; Beneath the Shades of Tmolus, crown'd with Snow, From Hyde's Walls, he rul'd 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.

Lye there Otryntides! the Trojan Earth Receives thee dead, tho' 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—Th'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. Th'impatient Steel with full-descending Sway Forc'd thro' 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 seiz'd 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 Neptunes 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 thro' 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, th'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 Jav'lin like a waving Flame. The Son of Peleus sees, with Joy possest, 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 scan'd him o'er: Come, and receive thy Fate! He spake no more.

Hector, undaunted, thus. Such Words employ To one that dreads thee, some unwarlike Boy: Such we could give, defying and defy'd, Mean Intercourse of Obloquy and Pride! I know thy Force to mine superior far; But Heav'n 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' heav'nly 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 plung'd the Dart: The Spear a fourth time bury'd in the Cloud, He foams with Fury, and exclaims aloud.

Wretch! Thou hast scap'd again. Once more thy Flight Has sav'd thee, and the partial God of Light. But long thou shalt not thy just Fate withstand, If any Pow'r 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 th'ensanguin'd Plain, Pierc'd thro' the Neck: He left him panting there, And stopp'd Demuchus, great Philetor's Heir, Gigantic Chief! Deep gash'd th'enormous Blade, And for the Soul an ample Passage made. Laogonus 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 Diff'rence only their sad Fates afford, That one the Spear destroy'd, and one the Sword.

Nor less unpity'd 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, and Age so like thy own! Unhappy Boy! no Pray'r, no moving Art E'er bent that fierce, inexorable Heart! While yet he trembled at his Knees, and cry'd, The ruthless Falchion op'd his tender Side; The panting Liver pours a Flood of Gore, That drowns his Bosom, till he pants no more.

Thro' Mulius' Head then drove th'impetuous Spear, The Warrior falls, transfix'd from Ear to Ear. Thy Life Echeclus! next the Sword bereaves, Deep thro' his Front the pond'rous Falchion cleaves; Warm'd in the Brain the smoaking Weapon lies, The purple Death comes floating o'er his Eyes, Then brave Deucalion dy'd: The Dart was flung Where the knit Nerves the plaint 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 Corps 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 thund'ring 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 Jav'lin gor'd; 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 thro' the wasted Shores; Around him wide, immense Destruction pours, And Earth is delug'd with the sanguine Show'rs. As with Autumnal Harvests cover'd o'er, And thick bestrown, lies Ceres' sacred Floor, When round and round with never-weary'd Pain, The trampling Steers beat out th'unnumber'd Grain. So the fierce Coursers, as the Chariot rolls, Tread down whole Ranks, and crush out Hero's Souls. Dash'd from their Hoofs while o'er the Dead they fly, Black bloody Drops the smoaking Chariot die: The spiky Wheels thro' 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!