Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/167

Raging with high Disdain, repeats his Blows;
Nor Shield, nor Armour can their Force oppose;
Huge Cantlets of his Buckler strew the Ground,
And no Defence in his bor'd Arms is found.
But on his Flesh, no Wound or Blood is seen;
The Sword it self is blunted on the Skin.
This vain Attempt the Chief no longer bears;
But round his hollow Temples and his Ears
His Buckler beats: The Sun of Neptune, stunn'd
With these repeated Buffets, quits his Ground;
A sickly Sweat succeeds, and Shades of Night;
Inverted Nature swims before his Sight:
Th' insulting Victor presses on the more,
And treads the Steps the Vanquish'd trod before,
Nor Rest, nor Respite gives. A Stone there lay
Behind his trembling Foe, and stopp'd his Way:
Achilles took th' Advantage which he found,
O'er-turn'd, and push'd him backward on the Ground,
His Buckler held him under, while he press'd,
With both his Knees, above his panting Breast.
Unlac'd his Helm: About his Chin the Twist
He ty'd; and soon the strangled Soul dismiss'd.
With eager Haste he went to strip the Dead:
The vanish'd Body from his Arms was fled.
His Sea-God Sire, t'immortalize his Frame,
Had turn'd it to a Bird that bears his Name.
A Truce succeeds the Labours of this Day,
And Arms suspended with a long Delay.
While Trojan Walls are kept with Watch and Ward;
The Greeks before their Trenches mount the Guard;
The Feast approach'd; when to the blue-ey'd Maid
His Vows for Cygnus slain the Victor paid,
And a white Heyfer on her Altar laid.
The reeking Entrails on the Fire they threw,
And to the Gods the grateful Odour flew:

Heav'n