Then didst thou, Sypylus, the language hear
Of fate portentous whistling through the air;
As when the impending storm the sailor sees,
He spreads his canvas to the favoring breeze.
So to thine horse thou guv'st the golden reins,
Gav'st him to rush impetuous o'er the plains:
But ah! a fatal shaft from Phœbus' hand
Smites through thy neck and sinks thee on the sand.
Two other brothers were at wrestling found,
And in their pastime clasped each other round:
A shaft that instant from Apollo's hand
Transfixed them both and stretched them on the sand:
Together they their cruel fate bemoaned,
Together languished and together groaned:
Together, too, the unbodied spirits fled,
And sought the gloomy mansions of the dead.
Alphenor saw, and trembling at the view,
Beat his torn breast, that changed its snowy hue.
He flies to raise them in a kind embrace;
A brother's fondness tiiumphs in his face:
Alphenor fails in this fraternal deed;
A dart despatched him, (so the fates decreed.)
Soon as the arrow left the deadly wound,
His issuing entrails smoked upon the ground.
What woes on blooming Damasichon wait!
His sighs portend his near impending fate.
Just where the well-made leg begins to be.
And the soft sinews form the supple knee.
The youth, sore wounded by the Delian god,
Attempts to extract the crime avenging rod;
