Part 63 (1/2)

Threatening he said: the hostile chiefs advance; At once Asteropeus discharged each lance, (For both his dexterous hands the lance could wield,) One struck, but pierced not, the Vulcanian shi+eld; One razed Achilles' hand; the spouting blood Spun forth; in earth the fasten'd weapon stood

Like lightning next the Pelean javelin flies: Its erring fury hiss'd along the skies; Deep in the swelling bank was driven the spear, Even to the middle earth; and quiver'd there

Then from his side the sword Pelides drew, And on his foe with double fury flew

The foe thrice tugg'd, and shook the rooted wood; Repulsive of his ht the weapon stood: The fourth, he tries to break the spear in vain; Bent as he stands, he tuhastly wound, The reeking entrails pour upon the ground

Beneath the hero's feet he panting lies, And his eye darkens, and his spirit flies; While the proud victor thus triu frolory! Such the fate they prove, Who strive presu froreat Saturnius is the source of eny?

Of Peleus, aeacus, and Jove, am I

The race of these superior far to those, As he that thunders to the streaht have shown; But Jove he dreads, nor wars against his son

Even Achelousbillows of the main

The eternal ocean, fros below, The thundering voice of Jove abhors to hear, And in his deep abysses shakes with fear”

He said: then from the bank his javelin tore, And left the breathless warrior in his gore

The floating tides the bloody carcase lave, And beat against it, wave succeeding wave; Till, roll'd between the banks, it lies the food Of curling eels, and fishes of the flood

All scatter'd round the strea the plain; He vents his fury on the flying crew, Thrasius, Astyplus, and Mnesus slew; Mydon, Thersilochus, with aenius, fell; And nued to hell, But froulfs profound Scamander spoke; the shores return'd the sound

”O first of mortals! (for the Gods are thine) In valour iven thee every Trojan head, 'Tis not on e should heap the dead

See! my choked streams no more their course can keep, Nor roll their wonted tribute to the deep

Turn then, ihters could amaze a God”

In human form, confess'd before his eyes, The river thus; and thus the chief replies: ”O sacred streaeance pay, Not till within her towers the perjured train Shall pant, and treuardian of her wall, Or stain this lance, or see Achilles fall”

He said; and drove with fury on the foe

Then to the Godhead of the silver bow The yellow flood began: ”O son of Jove!

Was not the mandate of the sire above Full and express, that Phoebus should employ His sacred arrows in defence of Troy, And make her conquer, till Hyperion's fall In awful darkness hide the face of all?”

He spoke in vain--The chief without dise his desperate way

Then rising in his rage above the shores, Froe heaps of slain disgorges on the coast, And round the banks the ghastly dead are toss'd

While all before, the billows ranged on high, (A watery bulwark,) screen the bands who fly

Now bursting on his head with thundering sound, The falling deluge whelms the hero round: His loaded shi+eld bends to the rushi+ng tide; His feet, upborne, scarce the strong flood divide, Sliddering, and staggering On the border stood A spreading elh, his steps to stay; The plant uprooted to his weight gave way(270) Heaving the bank, and under fall Of the thick foliage The large trunk display'd Bridged the rough flood across: the hero stay'd On this his weight, and raised upon his hand, Leap'd froain'd the land

Then blacken'd the aves: the er billow throws, And bursts the bank, ambitious to destroy The man whose fury is the fate of Troy

He like the warlike eagle speeds his pace (Swiftest and strongest of the aerial race); Far as a spear can fly, Achilles springs; At every bound his clanging ars: Now here, now there, he turns on every side, And winds his course before the following tide; The waves flow after, wheresoe'er he wheels, And gather fast, and arden brings Soft rills of water froh, to bless his bowers, And feed with pregnant streams the plants and flowers: Soon as he clears whate'er their passage stay'd, And marks the future current with his spade, Swift o'er the rolling pebbles, down the hills, Louder and louder purl the falling rills; Before hi, they prevent his pains, And shi+ne in s o'er the plains

Still flies Achilles, but before his eyes Still swift Scamander rolls where'er he flies: Not all his speed escapes the rapid floods; The first of men, but not a match for Gods

Oft as he turn'd the torrent to oppose, And bravely try if all the poere foes; So oft the surge, in watery mountains spread, Beats on his back, or bursts upon his head

Yet dauntless still the adverse flood he braves, And still indignant bounds above the waves

Tired by the tides, his knees relax with toil; Wash'd from beneath him slides the slimy soil; When thus (his eyes on heaven's expansion thrown) Forth bursts the hero with an angry groan:

”Is there no God Achilles to befriend, No power to avert his nominious date,(271) And make my future life the sport of fate

Of all heaven's oracles believed in vain, But most of Thetis must her son colorious arms before the Trojan wall