with thee: Such pacts as lambs and rabid wolves combine, Such leagues as men and furious lions join, To such I call the gods! one constant state Of lasting rancour and eternal hate: No thought but rage, and never-ceasing strife, Till death extinguish rage, and thought, and life. Rouse then thy forces this important hour, Collect thy soul, and call forth all thy power. No further subterfuge, no further chance; 'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives thee to my lance. Each Grecian ghost, by thee deprived of breath, Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy death." He spoke, and launch'd his javelin at the foe; But Hector shunn'd the meditated blow: He stoop'd, while o'er his head the flying spear Sang innocent, and spent its force in air. Minerva watch'd it falling on the land, Then drew, and gave to great Achilles' hand, Unseen of Hector, who, elate with joy, Now shakes his lance, and braves the dread of Troy. "The life you boasted to that javelin given, Prince! you have miss'd. My fate depends on Heaven, To thee, presumptuous as thou art, unknown, Or what must prove my fortune, or thy own. Boasting is but an art, our fears to blind, And with false terrors sink another's mind. But know, whatever fate I am to try, By no dishonest wound shall Hector die. I shall not fall a fugitive at least, My soul shall bravely issue from my breast. But first, try thou my arm; and may this dart End all my country's woes, deep buried in thy heart." The weapon flew, its course unerring held, Unerring, but the heavenly shield repell'd The mortal dart; resulting with a bound From off the ringing orb, it struck the ground. Hector beheld his javelin fall in vain, Nor other lance, nor other hope remain; He calls Deiphobus, demands a spear-- In vain, for no Deiphobus was there. All comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh; "'Tis so--Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh! I deem'd Deiphobus had heard my call, But he se