The brave knight drew his sword, and flew Like lightning on the foe, And on its hide of horny pride Dealt ringing blow on blow. In vain; that hide, Bellerophon, Dipt in the flood of Acheron, Is proof at every pore; And where thy steel doth vainly hack, A goat’s head rising on its back With living fire streams o’er; And from behind, a serpent’s tail, With many mouths that hisses, Rears round about thee like a flail, To give thee poisoned kisses. The flame, the smoke, the sulphurous breath Doth choke thy mortal life; Spare that dear life, for only death Can grow from such a strife. Backward the flame-scorched hero sped, And as he went, upon his tread The roaring Terror came. Along the ridge, so sharp and jaggy, Huge-limb’d it strode, horrid and shaggy, And swathed with sevenfold flame. Down through the archway opening wide, Far through the hollow mountain-side, It drove him wrathful on; Then through the black jaws of the rock It hurled him with a furious shock, And with a huge-heaved stone Blocked up the rift. There in the vale, Scarcely with life, all scorched and pale, Was left Bellerophon. VIII.