The bearded shaft the destined passage found;
And on his naked arm inflicts a wound.
The chief, who feared some foe's insulting boast
Might stop the progress of his warlike host,
Concealed the wound, and, leaping from his height,
Retired reluctant from the unfinished fight.
Divine Sarpedon with regret beheld
Disabled Glaucus slowly quit the field:
His beating breast with generous ardour glows,
He springs to fight, and flies upon the foes.
Alcmaön first was doomed his force to feel:
Deep in his breast he plunged the pointed steel;
Then, from the yawning wound with fury tore
The spear, pursued by gushing streams of gore:
Down sinks the warrior with a thundering sound,
His brazen armour rings against the ground.
Swift to the battlement the victor[1] flies,
Tugs with full force, and every nerve applies;
It shakes; the ponderous stones disjointed yield:
The rolling ruins smoke along the field;
A mighty breach appears: the walls lie bare,
And, like a deluge, rushes in the war.
At once bold Teucer draws the twanging bow,
And Ajax sends his javelin at the foe:
Fixed in his belt the feathered weapon stood,
And through his buckler drove the trembling wood;
But Jove was present in the dire debate,
To shield his offspring, and avert his fate.
The prince gave back, not meditating flight,
But urging vengeance and severer fight;
Then, raised with hope, and fired with glory's charms,
His fainting squadrons to new fury warms:
"O where, ye Lycians! is the strength you boast?
Your former fame, and ancient virtue lost!
The breach lies open, but your chief in vain
Attempts alone the guarded pass to gain:
Unite, and soon that hostile fleet shall fall;
The force of powerful union conquers all."
This just rebuke inflamed the Lycian crew;
They join, they thicken, and the assault renew:
Unmoved the embodied Greeks their fury dare,
And fixed support the weight of all the war:
Nor could the Greeks repel the Lycian powers,
Nor the bold Lycians force the Grecian towers,
As on the confines of adjoining grounds,
Two stubborn swains with blows dispute their bounds;
They tug, they sweat: but neither gain, nor yield,
One foot, one inch, of the contended field:
- ↑ Sarpedon.
