Then turns his face, far beaming heav'nly

fires,

And from the senior Power submiss retires;

Him, thus retreating, Artemis upbraids, The quiver'd Huntress of the sylvan Shades:

'And is it thus the youthful Phœbus flies,

And yields to Ocean's hoary Sire the prize?

How vain that martial pomp, and dreadful show

Of pointed arrows, and the silver bow ! 550 Now boast no more in yon celestial bower, Thy force can match the great earth-shaking Power.'

Silent he heard the Queen of Woods upbraid:

Not so Saturnia bore the vaunting maid; But furious thus: What insolence has driv'n

Thy pride to face the Majesty of Heav'n? What tho' by Jove the female plague design'd,

Fierce to the feeble race of womankind, The wretched matron feels thy piercing dart;

Thy sex's tyrant, with a tiger's heart? 560 What tho', tremendous in the woodland chase,

Thy certain arrows pierce the savage race? How dares thy rashness on the Powers divine

Employ those arms, or match thy force with mine?

Learn hence, no more unequal war to wage

She said, and seiz'd her wrists with eager rage;

These in her left hand lock'd, her right untied

The bow, the quiver, and its plumy pride.
About her temples flies the busy bow;
Now here, now there, she winds her from
the blow;

570

In aid of him, beside the beech he sat, And, wrapt in clouds, restrain'd the hand of Fate.

When now the gen'rous youth Achilles spies,

Thick beats his heart, the troubled motions rise

(So, ere a storm, the waters heave and roll):

He stops, and questions thus his mighty soul:

650 'What! shall I fly this terror of the plain?

Like others fly, and be like others slain? Vain hope to shun him by the self-same road

Yon line of slaughter'd Trojans lately trod. No: with the common heap I scorn to fall

And, soon as Night her dusky veil extends, Return in safety to my Trojan friends. What if? But wherefore all this vain debate?

Stand I to doubt within the reach of Fate? Ev'n now perhaps, ere yet I turn the wall, The fierce Achilles sees me, and I fall: Such is his swiftness, 't is in vain to fly, And such his valour, that who stands must die.

Howe'er 't is better, fighting for the state, Here, and in public view, to meet my fate.

670

Tho' struck, tho' wounded, scarce perceives the pain,

And the barb'd jav'lin stings his breast in vain;

On their whole war, untamed the savage flies;

And tears his hunter, or beneath him dies. Not less resolv'd Antenor's valiant heir Confronts Achilles, and awaits the war, Disdainful of retreat: high-held before, His shield (a broad circumference) he bore;

Then, graceful as he stood, in act to throw The lifted jav'lin, thus bespoke the foe: 690

'How proud Achilles glories in his fame! And hopes this day to sink the Trojan

name

The Trojans being safe within the walls, Hector only stays to oppose Achilles. Priam is struck at his approach, and tries to persuade his son to re-enter the town. Hecuba joins her entreaties, but in vain. Hector consults within himself what measures to take; but, at the advance of Achilles, his resolution fails him, and he flies: Achilles pursues him thrice round the walls of Troy. The Gods debate concerning the fate of Hector; at length Minerva descends to the aid of Achilles. She deludes Hector in the shape of Deïphobus; he stands the combat, and is slain. Achilles drags the dead body at his chariot, in the sight of Priam and Hecuba. Their lamentations, tears, and despair. Their cries reach the ears of Andromache, who, ignorant of this, was retired into the inner part of the palace; she mounts up to the walls, and beholds her dead husband. She swoons at the spectacle. Her excess of grief and lamentation.

The thirtieth day still continues. The scene lies under the walls, and on the battlements of Troy.

THUS to their bulwarks, smit with panic fear,

The herded Ilians rush like driven deer; There safe, they wipe the briny drops

away,

And drown in bowls the labours of the day. Close to the walls, advancing o'er the fields, Beneath one roof of well-compacted shields, March, bending on, the Greeks' embodied

powers,

Far-stretching in the shade of Trojan

towers.

To cheat a mortal who repines in vain.'
Then to the city, terrible and strong,
With high and haughty steps he tower'd
along:

So the proud courser, victor of the prize,
To the near goal with double ardour flies.
Him, as he blazing shot across the field,
The careful eyes of Priam first beheld.
Not half so dreadful rises to the sight,
Thro' the thick gloom of some tempestuous
night,
Orion's dog

(the year when autumn weighs),

And o'er the feebler stars exerts his rays; Terrific glory! for his burning breath Taints the red air with fevers, plagues, and

death.