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Poems on
To whom stern-frowning Diomed replies,
Tho' every Syllable be stamp'd with Truth,
Dolon, thou dy'st: would'st thou once more return
Darkling a Spy, or wage a nobler Foe
New War on Greece? Traytor thou dy'st, nor more
New War thou wagest, nor return'st a Spy.
Tho' every Syllable be stamp'd with Truth,
Dolon, thou dy'st: would'st thou once more return
Darkling a Spy, or wage a nobler Foe
New War on Greece? Traytor thou dy'st, nor more
New War thou wagest, nor return'st a Spy.
He spoke terrific, and as Dolon rais'd
Suppliant his humble Hands, the trenchant Blade
Sheer thro' his Neck descends; the furious Blow
Cleaves the tough Nerves in twain, down drops the Head,
And mutters unintelligible Sounds.
Strait they despoil the Dead, the Wolf's grey Hide
They seize, the Helm, the Spear, and Battle-Bow
These as they drop'd with Gore, on high in Air
Ulysses rais'd, and to the martial Maid
Suppliant his humble Hands, the trenchant Blade
Sheer thro' his Neck descends; the furious Blow
Cleaves the tough Nerves in twain, down drops the Head,
And mutters unintelligible Sounds.
Strait they despoil the Dead, the Wolf's grey Hide
They seize, the Helm, the Spear, and Battle-Bow
These as they drop'd with Gore, on high in Air
Ulysses rais'd, and to the martial Maid
Thus
