through the shoulder stood; In clanging arms the hero fell and all The fields resounded with his weighty fall. Phorcys, as slain Hippothous he defends, The Telamonian lance his belly rends; The hollow armour burst before the stroke, And through the wound the rushing entrails broke: In strong convulsions panting on the sands He lies, and grasps the dust with dying hands. Struck at the sight, recede the Trojan train: The shouting Argives strip the heroes slain. And now had Troy, by Greece compell'd to yield, Fled to her ramparts, and resign'd the field; Greece, in her native fortitude elate, With Jove averse, had turn'd the scale of fate: But Phoebus urged Ćneas to the fight; He seem'd like aged Periphas to sight: (A herald in Anchises' love grown old, Revered for prudence, and with prudence bold.) Thus he--"What methods yet, O chief! remain, To save your Troy, though heaven its fall ordain? There have been heroes, who, by virtuous care, By valour, numbers, and by arts of war, Have forced the powers to spare a sinking state, And gain'd at length the glorious odds of fate: But you, when fortune smiles, when Jove declares His partial favour, and assists your wars, Your shameful efforts 'gainst yourselves employ, And force the unwilling god to ruin Troy." Ćneas through the form assumed descries The power conceal'd, and thus to Hector cries: "Oh lasting shame! to our own fears a prey, We seek our ramparts, and desert the day. A god, nor is he less, my bosom warms, And tells me, Jove asserts the Trojan arms." He spoke, and foremost to the combat flew: The bold example all his hosts pursue. Then, first, Leocritus beneath him bled, In vain beloved by valiant Lycomede; Who view'd his fall, and, grieving at the chance, Swift to revenge it sent his angry lance; The whirling lance, with vigorous force address'd, Descends, and pants in Apisaon's breast; From rich Paeonia's vales the warrio