Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 3.djvu/309

He lops the Head. The Latian Fields are drunk
With streams that issue from the bleeding Trunk.
While he triumphs, and while the Trojans yield,565
The wounded Prince is forc'd to leave the Field:
Strong Mnestheus, and Achates often try'd,
And young Ascanius, weeping by his side,
Conduct him to his Tent: Scarce can he rear
His Limbs from Earth, supported on his Spear.570
Resolv'd in Mind, regardless of the Smart,
He tugs with both his Hands, and breaks the Dart.
The Steel remains. No readier way he found
To draw the Weapon, than t' inlarge the Wound.
Eager of Fight, impatient of delay,575
He begs; and his unwilling Friends obey.
Iapis was at hand to prove his Art,
Whose blooming Youth so fir'd Apollo's Heart,
That for his Love he proffer'd to bestow
His tuneful Harp, and his unerring Bow:580
The pious Youth, more studious how to save
His aged Sire, now sinking to the Grave,
Preferr'd the pow'r of Plants, and silent Praise
Of healing Arts, before Phœbeian Bays.
Prop'd on his Lance the pensive Heroe stood,585
And heard, and saw unmov'd, the mourning Crowd.
The fam'd Physician tucks his Robes around,
With ready Hands, and hastens to the Wound.