While every Trojan thus, and every aid, The advice of wise Polydamas obey’d, Asius alone, confiding in his car, His vaunted coursers urged to meet the war. Unhappy hero! and advised in vain; Those wheels returning ne’er shall mark the plain; No more those coursers with triumphant joy Restore their master to the gates of Troy! Black death attends behind the Grecian wall, And great Idomeneus shall boast thy fall! Fierce to the left he drives, where from the plain The flying Grecians strove their ships to gain; Swift through the wall their horse and chariots pass’d, The gates half-open’d to receive the last. Thither, exulting in his force, he flies: His following host with clamours rend the skies: To plunge the Grecians headlong in the main, Such their proud hopes; but all their hopes were vain! To guard the gates, two mighty chiefs attend, Who from the Lapiths’ warlike race descend; This Polypœtes, great Perithous’ heir, And that Leonteus, like the god of war. As two tall oaks, before the wall they rise; Their roots in earth, their heads amidst the skies: Whose spreading arms with leafy honours crown’d, Forbid the tempest, and protect the ground; High on the hills appears their stately form, And their deep roots for ever brave the storm. So graceful these, and so the shock they stand Of raging Asius, and his furious band. Orestes, Acamas, in front appear, And Œnomaus and Thoon close the rear: In vain their clamours shake the ambient fields, In vain around them beat their hollow shields; The fearless brothers on the Grecians call, To guard their navies, and defend the wall. Even when they saw Troy’s sable troops impend, And Greece tumultuous from her towers descend, Forth from the portals rush’d the intrepid pair, Opposed their breasts, and stood themselves the war. So two wild boars spring furious from their den, Roused with the cries of dogs and voice of men; On every side the crackling trees they tear, And root the shrubs, and lay the forest bare; They gnash their tusks, with fire their eye-balls roll, Till some wide wound lets out their mighty soul. Around their heads the whistling javelins sung, With sounding strokes their brazen targets rung; Fierce was the fight, while yet the Grecian powers Maintain’d the walls, and mann’d the lofty towers: To save their fleet their last efforts they try, And stones and darts in mingled tempests fly. As when sharp Boreas blows abroad, and brings The dreary winter on his frozen wings; Beneath the low-hung clouds the sheets of snow Descend, and whiten all the fields below: So fast the darts on either army pour, So down the rampires rolls the rocky shower: Heavy, and thick, resound the batter’d shields, And the deaf echo rattles round the fields.