Boar

Forth from the thicket rush'd another boar, So large he seem'd the tyrant of the woods, With all his dreadful bristles rais'd up high, They seem'd a grove of spears upon his back. Foaming he came at me, where I was posted, Whetting his huge long tusks, and gaping wide, As he already had me for his prey: Till brandishing my well-pois'd jav'lin high, With this bold executing arm I struck The ugly brindled monster to the heart.

So when surrounding huntsmen cast a show'r Of hissing spears against some mighty boar, The grisly beast, provok'd with ev'ry wound. Rages, and casts his threat'ning looks around. High on his back his furious bristles rise, And lightning flashes from his raging eyes: He tosses clouds of foam amidst the air, And, brandishing his fangs, invites the war.

His eye-balls glare with fire, suffus'd with blood, His neck shoots up a thick-set thorny wood. His bristled back a trench impal'd appears, And stands erected like a field of spears. Froth fills his chaps, he sends a grunting sound, And part he churns, and part befoams the ground. For tusks, with Indian elephants he strove, And Jove's own thunder from his mouth he drove. He suffers not the corn its yellow beards to rear, But tramples down the spikes, and intercepts the year. In vain the barns expect their promis'd load, Nor barns at home, nor ricks are heap'd abroad. In vain the hinds the threshing floor prepare, And exercise their arms in empty air. With olives ever green the ground is strew'd, And grapes ungather'd shed their gen'rous blood. Amid the fold he rages, nor the sheep Their shepherds, nor the grooms their bulls can keep.