The Jav'lin drawn from out the mortal Wound,
He faints with stagg'ring Steps; and seeks the Ground:
The Fair, within her Arms receiv'd his Fall,
And strove his wand'ring Spirits to recall:
And while her Hand the streaming Blood oppos'd,
Join'd Face to Face, his Lips with hers she clos'd.
Stifled with Kisses, a sweet Death he dies;
She fills the Fields with undistinguish'd Cries:
At least her Words were in her Clamour drown'd;
For my stunn'd Ears receiv'd no vocal Sound.
In madness of her Grief, she seiz'd the Dart
New-drawn, and reeking from her Lover's Heart;
To her bare Bosom the sharp Point apply'd;
And wounded fell; and falling by his Side,
Embrac'd him in her Arms; and thus embracing, dy'd.
Ev'n still methinks, I see Phæocomes;
Strange was his Habit, and as odd his Dress.
Six Lions Hides, with Thongs together fast,
His upper Part defended to his Waist:
And where Man ended, the continued Vest,
Spread on his Back, the Houss and Trappings of a Beast.
A Stump too heavy for a Team to draw,
(It seems a Fable, tho' the Fact I saw;)
He threw at Pholon; the descending Blow
Divides the Scull and cleaves his Head in two.
The Brains, from Nose, and Mouth, and either Ear,
Came issuing out as through a Colendar
The Curdled Milk; or from the Press the Whey,
Driv'n down by Weights above, is drain'd away.
But him, while stooping down to spoil the Slain,
Pierc'd through the Paunch, I tumbled on the Plain.
Then Chthonyus, and Teleboas I slew:
A Fork the former arm'd; a Dart his Fellow threw.
The Jav'lin wounded me; (behold the Scar.
Then was my Time to seek the Trojan War;
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Ovid's Metamorphoses.
Book 12.
Then
