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fed; Far hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main, And walls of rocks, secure my native reign, Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace, Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race. Hither we sail'd, a voluntary throng, To avenge a private, not a public wrong: What else to Troy the assembled nations draws, But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother's cause? Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve; Disgraced and injured by the man we serve? And darest thou threat to sn

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prize." He said, and touch'd his heart. The raging pair Pierced the thick battle, and provoke the war. Already had stern Hector seized his head, And doom'd to Trojan gods the unhappy dead; But soon as Ajax rear'd his tower-like shield, Sprung to his car, and measured back the field, His train to Troy the radiant armour bear, To stand a trophy of his fame in war. Meanwhile great Ajax (his broad shield display'd) Guards the dead hero with the dreadful shade; And now before, and now behind he stood: Thus in the centre of some gloomy wood, With many a step, the lioness surrounds Her tawny young, beset by men and hounds; Elate her heart, and rousing all her powers, Dark o'er the fiery balls each hanging eyebrow lours. Fast by his side the generous Spartan glows With great revenge, and feeds his inward woes. But Glaucus, leader of the Lycian aids, On Hector frowning, thus his flight upbraids: "Where now in Hector shall we Hector find? A manly form, without a manly mind. Is this, O chief! a hero's boasted fame? How vain, without the merit, is the name! Since battle is renounced, thy thoughts employ What other methods may preserve thy Troy: 'Tis time to try if Ilion's state can stand By thee alone, nor ask a foreign hand: Mean, empty boast! but shall the Lycians stake Their lives for you? those Lycians you forsake? What from thy thankless arms can we expect? Thy friend Sarpedon proves thy base neglect; Say, shall our slaughter'd bodies guard your walls, While unreveng'd the great Sarpedon falls? Even where he died for Troy, you left him there, A feast for dogs, and all the fowls of air. On my command if any Lycian wait, Hence let him march, and give up Troy to fate. Did such a spirit as the gods impart Impel one Trojan hand or Trojan heart, (Such as should burn in every soul that draws The sword for glory, and his country's cause) Even yet our mutual arms we might employ, And drag yo