bold, and young;) Thus he accosts him. "What a shameful sight! God! is it Hector that forbears the fight? Were thine my vigour this successful spear Should soon convince thee of so false a fear. Turn thee, ah turn thee to the field of fame, And in Patroclus' blood efface thy shame. Perhaps Apollo shall thy arms succeed, And heaven ordains him by thy lance to bleed." So spoke the inspiring god; then took his flight, And plunged amidst the tumult of the fight. He bids Cebrion drive the rapid car; The lash resounds, the coursers rush to war. The god the Grecians' sinking souls depress'd, And pour'd swift spirits through each Trojan breast. Patroclus lights, impatient for the fight; A spear his left, a stone employs his right: With all his nerves he drives it at the foe. Pointed above, and rough and gross below: The falling ruin crush'd Cebrion's head, The lawless offspring of king Priam's bed; His front, brows, eyes, one undistinguish'd wound: The bursting balls drop sightless to the ground. The charioteer, while yet he held the rein, Struck from the car, falls headlong on the plain. To the dark shades the soul unwilling glides, While the proud victor thus his fall derides. "Good heaven! what active feats yon artist shows! What skilful divers are our Phrygian foes! Mark with what ease they sink into the sand! Pity that all their practice is by land!" Then rushing sudden on his prostrate prize, To spoil the carcase fierce Patroclus flies: Swift as a lion, terrible and bold, That sweeps the field, depopulates the fold; Pierced through the dauntless heart, then tumbles slain, And from his fatal courage finds his bane. At once bold Hector leaping from his car, Defends the body, and provokes the war. Thus for some slaughter'd hind, with equal rage, Two lordly rulers of the wood engage; Stung with fierce hunger, each the prey invades, And echoing roars rebellow through the shades. Stern