All threat’ningly, out-thund’ring shouts as earth were overthrown. Before them march’d Apollo still, and, as he march’d, digg’d down, Without all labour, with his feet the dike, till, with his own, He fill’d it to the top, and made way both for man and horse As broad and long as with a lance, cast out to try one’s force, A man could measure. Into this they pour’d whole troops as fast As num’rous; Phœbus still, before, for all their haste, Still shaking Jove’s unvalu’d shield, and held it up to all. And then, as he had chok’d their dike, he tumbled down their wall. And look how eas’ly any boy, upon the sea-ebb’d shore, Makes with a little sand a toy, and cares for it no more, But as he rais’d it childishly, so in his wanton vein, Both with his hands and feet he pulls, and spurns it down again; So slight, O Phœbus, thy hands made of that huge Grecian toil, And their late stand, so well-resolv’d, as eas’ly mad’st recoil. Thus stood they driv’n up at their fleet; where each heard other’s thought, Exhorted, passing humbly pray’d, all all the Gods besought, With hands held up to heav’n, for help. ’Mongst all the good old man, Grave Nestor, for his counsels call’d the Argives’ guardian, Fell on his aged knees, and pray’d, and to the starry host Stretch’d out his hands for aid to theirs, of all thus moving most: “O father Jove, if ever man, of all our host, did burn Fat thighs of oxen or of sheep, for grace of safe return, In fruitful Argos, and obtain’d the bowing of thy head For promise of his humble pray’rs, O now remember him, Thou merely heav’nly, and clear up the foul brows of this dim And cruel day; do not destroy our zeal for Trojan pride.” He pray’d, and heav’n’s great Counsellor with store of thunder tried His former grace good, and so heard the old man’s hearty pray’rs. The Trojans took Jove’s sign for them, and pour’d out their affairs In much more violence on the Greeks, and thought on nought but fight. And as a huge wave of a sea, swoln to his rudest height, Breaks over both sides of a ship, being all-urg’d by the wind, For that’s it makes the wave so proud; in such a borne-up kind The Trojans overgat the wall, and, getting in their horse, Fought close at fleet, which now the Greeks ascended for their force. Then from their chariots they with darts, the Greeks with bead-hooks fought, Kept still aboard for naval fights, their heads with iron wrought In hooks and pikes. Achilles’ friend, still while he saw the wall, That stood without their fleet, afford employment for them all, Was never absent from the tent of that man-loving Greek, Late-hurt Eurypylus, but sate, and ev’ry way did seek, To spend the sharp time of his wound, with all the ease he could In med’cines, and in kind discourse. But when he might behold The Trojans past the wall, the Greeks flight-driv’n, and all in cries, Then cried he out, cast down his hands, and beat with grief his thighs, Then, “O Eurypylus,” he cried, “now all thy need of me