Swift as a flood of fire, when storms arise, Floats the wild field, and blazes to the skies. Earth groan'd beneath them; as when angry Jove Hurls down the forky lightning from above, On Arime when he the thunder throws, And fires Typhoeus with redoubled blows, Where Typhon, press'd beneath the burning load, Still feels the fury of the avenging god. But various Iris, Jove's commands to bear, Speeds on the wings of winds through liquid air; In Priam's porch the Trojan chiefs she found, The old consulting, and the youths around. Polites' shape, the monarch's son, she chose, Who from Ćsetes' tomb observed the foes,(105) High on the mound; from whence in prospect lay The fields, the tents, the navy, and the bay. In this dissembled form, she hastes to bring The unwelcome message to the Phrygian king. "Cease to consult, the time for action calls; War, horrid war, approaches to your walls! Assembled armies oft have I beheld; But ne'er till now such numbers charged a field: Thick as autumnal leaves or driving sand, The moving squadrons blacken all the strand. Thou, godlike Hector! all thy force employ, Assemble all the united bands of Troy; In just array let every leader call The foreign troops: this day demands them all!" The voice divine the mighty chief alarms; The council breaks, the warriors rush to arms. The gates unfolding pour forth all their train, Nations on nations fill the dusky plain, Men, steeds, and chariots, shake the trembling ground: The tumult thickens, and the skies resound. Amidst the plain, in sight of Ilion, stands A rising mount, the work of human hands; (This for Myrinne's tomb the immortals know, Though call'd Bateia in the world below;) Beneath their chiefs in martial order here, The auxiliar troops and Trojan hosts appear. The godlike Hector, high above the rest, Shakes his huge spear, and nods his plumy crest: In throngs around his native bands repair, A