And were fome ambush for the foes defign'd,
Ev'n there, thy courage would not lag behind.
In that fharp fervice, fingled from the reft,
The fear of each, or valour, fands confeft,
No force, no firmness, the pale coward shows;:
He shifts his place; his colour comes and goes;
A dropping fweat creeps cold on every part,
Against his bofom beats his quivering heart;
Terrour and death in his wild eye-balls ftare;
With chattering teeth he stands, and stiffening hair,
And looks a bloodlefs image of despair!
365
Not fo the brave-ftill dauntlefs, ftill the fame,
Unchang'd his colour, and unmov'd his frame;
Compos'd his thought, determin'd is his eye,
And fix'd his foul, to conquer or to die:
If aught disturb the tenour of his breaft,
'Tis but the wish to ftrike before the rest.
In fuch affays thy blameless worth is known,
And every art of dangerous war thy own.
By chance of fight whatever wounds you bore,
Those wounds were glorious all, and all before; 375
Such as may teach, 'twas still thy brave delight
T'oppose thy bofom where the foremost fight.
But why, like infants, cold to honour's charms,
Stand we to talk, when glory calls to arms?
Go-from my conquer'd spears the choicest take, 389
And to their owners fond them nobly back.
Swift as the word bold Merion fnatch'd a spear,
And breathing flaughter follow'd to the war.
So Mars armipotent invades the plain
(The wide deftroyer of the race of man).
Terrour, his best-lov'd fon, attends his courfe,
Arm'd with stern boldness, and enormous force;
The pride of haughty warriours to confound,
And lay the ftrength of tyrants on the ground:
From Thrace they fly, call'd to the dire alarms
Of warring Phlegyians, and Ephyrian arms;
Invok'd by both, relentless, they dispose
To these glad conqueft, murderous rout to thofe.
So march'd the leaders of the Cretan train,
And their bright arms fhot horrour o'er the plain. 395
Then first spake Merion: Shall we join the right,
Or combat in the centre of the fight?
Or to the left our wanted fuccour lend?
Hazard and fame all parts alike attend.
Not in the centre (Idomen reply'd):
Our ableft chieftains the main battle guide;
Each god-like Ajax makes that poft his care,
And gallant Teucer deals deftruction there :
Skill'd, or with shafts to gall the distant field,
Or bear close battle on the founding shield.
Thefe can the rage of haughty Hector tame:
Safe in their arms, the navy fears no flame;
Till Jove himself defcends, his bolts to shed,
And hurl the blazing ruin at our head.
Great must he be, of more than human birth,
Nor feed like mortals on the fruits of earth,
Him neither rocks can crush, nor steel can wound,
Whom Ajax fells not on th' enfanguin'd ground:
In standing fight he mates Achilles' force,
Excell'd alone in swiftnefs in the course.
Then to the left our ready arms apply,
And live with glory, or with glory die.
He faid; and Merion to th' appointed place,
Fierce as the God of battles, urg'd his pace.
Soon as the foe the fhining chiefs beheld
Rush like a fiery torrent o'er the field,
Their force embodied in a tide they pour;
The rifing combat sounds along the fhore.
As warring winds, in Sirius' fultry reign,
From different quarters sweep the fandy plain;
On every fide the dufty whirlwinds rife,
And the dry fields are lifted to the skies :
Thus, by defpair, hope, rage, together driven,
Met the black hosts, and, meeting, darken'd heaven. All dreadful glar'd the iron face of war,
Bristled with upright spears, that flash'd afar;
Dire was the gleam, of breast-plates, helms, and fhields,
And polish'd arms emblaz'd the flaming fields;
Tremendous fcene! that general horrour gave,
But touch'd with joy the bofoms of the brave.
Saturn's great fons in fierce contention vy'd,
And crouds of heroes in their anger dy'd.
The Sire of earth and heaven, by Thetis won
To crown with glory Peleus' god-like fon,
Will'd not deftruction to the Grecian powers,
But fpar'd a while the deftin'd Trojan towers:
While Neptune, rifing from his azure main,
Warr'd on the King of Heaven with stern difdain,
And breath'd revenge, and fir'd the Grecian train.
Gods of one fource, of one ethereal race,
Alike divine, and heaven their native place;
But Jove the greater; first-born of the skies,
And more than men, or Gøds, fupremely wife.
For this, of Jove's fuperior might afraid,
Neptune in human form conceal'd his aid.
These powers infold the Greek and Trojan train
In War and Difcord's adamantine chain,
Indiffolubly strong; the fatal tye
Is ftretch'd on both, and, clofe-compell'd, they die. Dreadful in arms, and grown in combats grey, 455 The bold Idomeneus controls the day.
First by his hand Othryoneus was flain,
Swell'd with false hopes, with mad ambition vain!
Call'd by the voice of war to martial fame,
From high Cabefus' diftant walls he came;
Caffandra's love he fought, with boasts of power,
And promis'd conqueft was the proffer'd dower.
The king consented, by his vaunts abus'd;
The king confented, but the Fates refus'd.
Proud of himself, and of th' imagin'd bride,
The field he measur'd with a larger stride.
Him, as he stalk'd, the Cretan javelin found;
Vain was his breast-plate to repel the wound:
His dream of glory loft, he plung'd to hell:
His arms refounded as the boafter fell.
The great Idomeneus beftrides the dead;
And thus (he cries) behold thy promise sped!
Such is the help thy arms to Ilion bring,
And fuch the contract of the Phrygian king!
Our offers now, illuftrious prince! receive;
For fuch an aid what will not Argos give?
To conquer Troy, with ours thy forces join,
And count Atrides' fairest daughter thine.
Meantime, on farther methods to advise,
Come, follow to the fleet thy new allies;
There hear what Greece has on her part to say.
He spoke, and dragg'd the gory corfe away.
This Afius view'd, unable to contain,
Before his chariot warring on the plain;
(His crouded courfers, to his fquire confign'd,
Impatient panted on his neck behind)
To vengeance rifing with a sudden spring,
He hop'd the conqueft of the Cretan king.
The wary Cretan, as his foe drew near,
Full on his throat discharg'd the forceful fpear: 490
Beneath the chin the point was feen to glide,
And glitter'd, extant at the farther fide.
As when the mountain-oak, or poplar tall,
Or pine, fit mast for fome great admiral,
Groans to the oft-heav'd ax, with many a wound, 495
Then spreads a length of ruin o'er the ground:
So funk proud Afius in that dreadful day,
And stretch'd before his much-lov'd courfers lay.
He grinds the dust distain'd with streaming gore,
And, fierce in death, lies foaming on the fhore,
Depriv'd of motion, stiff with stupid fear,
Stands all aghaft his trembling charioteer,
Nor fhuns the foe, nor turns the steeds away,
But falls transfix'd, an unrefisting prey :
Pierc'd by Antilochus, he pants beneath
The stately car, and labours out his breath.
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