This said, he led the way; with joyous shouts They follow’d all; then Jove, the lightning’s Lord, From Ida’s heights a storm of wind sent down, Driving the dust against the Grecian ships; Which quell’d their courage, and to Hector gave, And to the Trojans, fresh incitement; they, On their own strength, and heav’nly signs relying, Their force address’d to storm the Grecian wall. They raz’d the counterscarp, the battlements Destroy’d; and the projecting buttresses, Which, to sustain the tow’rs, the Greeks had fix’d Deep in the soil, with levers undermin’d. These once withdrawn, they hop’d to storm the wall; Nor from the passage yet the Greeks withdrew, But closely fencing with their bull’s-hide shields The broken battlements, they thence hurl’d down A storm of weapons on the foe beneath. Commanding from the tow’r in ev’ry place Were seen th’ Ajaces, urging to the fight, Imploring these, and those in sterner tones Rebuking, who their warlike toil relax’d. “Friends, Grecians all, ye who excel in war, And ye of mod’rate or inferior strength, Though all are not with equal pow’rs endued, Yet here is work for all! bear this in mind, Nor tow’rd the ships let any turn his face, By threats dismay’d; but forward press, and each Encourage each, if so the lightning’s Lord, Olympian Jove, may grant us to repel, And backward to his city chase the foe.” Thus they, with cheering words, sustain’d the war: Thick as the snow-flakes on a wintry day, When Jove, the Lord of counsel, down on men His snow-storm sends, and manifests his pow’r: Hush’d are the winds; the flakes continuous fall, That the high mountain tops, and jutting crags, And lotus-cover’d meads are buried deep, And man’s productive labours of the field; On hoary Ocean’s beach and bays they lie, Th’ approaching waves their bound; o’er all beside Is spread by Jove the heavy veil of snow. So thickly new the stones from either side, By Greeks on Trojans hurl’d, by these on Greeks; And clatter’d loud through all its length the wall. Nor yet the Trojans, though by Hector led, The gates had broken, and the massive bar, But Jove against the Greeks sent forth his son Sarpedon, as a lion on a herd: His shield’s broad orb before his breast he bore, Well-wrought, of beaten brass, which th’ arm’rer’s hand Had beaten out, and lin’d with stout bull’s-hide; With golden rods, continuous, all around; He thus equipp’d, two jav’lins brandishing, Strode onward, as a lion, mountain-bred, Whom, fasting long, his dauntless courage leads To assail the flock, though in well-guarded fold; And though the shepherds there he find, prepar’d With dogs and lances to protect the sheep, Not unattempted will he leave the fold; But, springing to the midst, he bears his prey In triumph thence; or in the onset falls, Wounded by jav’lins hurl’d by stalwart hands: So, prompted by his godlike courage, burn’d Sarpedon to assail the lofty wall, And storm the ramparts; and to Glaucus thus, Son of Hippolochus, his speech address’d: