Then thus Minerva in Laertes’ ear: “Son of Arcesius, reverend warrior, hear! Jove and Jove’s daughter first implore in prayer, Then, whirling high, discharge thy lance in air.” She said, infusing courage with the word. Jove and Jove’s daughter then the chief implored, And, whirling high, dismiss’d the lance in air. Full at Eupithes drove the deathful spear: The brass-cheek’d helmet opens to the wound; He falls, earth thunders, and his arms resound. Before the father and the conquering son Heaps rush on heaps, they fight, they drop, they run Now by the sword, and now the javelin, fall The rebel race, and death had swallow’d all; But from on high the blue-eyed virgin cried; Her awful voice detain’d the headlong tide: “Forbear, ye nations, your mad hands forbear From mutual slaughter; Peace descends to spare.” Fear shook the nations: at the voice divine They drop their javelins, and their rage resign. All scatter’d round their glittering weapons lie; Some fall to earth, and some confusedly fly. With dreadful shouts Ulysses pour’d along, Swift as an eagle, as an eagle strong. But Jove’s red arm the burning thunder aims: Before Minerva shot the livid flames; Blazing they fell, and at her feet expired; Then stopped the goddess, trembled and retired. “Descended from the gods! Ulysses, cease; Offend not Jove: obey, and give the peace.” So Pallas spoke: the mandate from above The king obey’d. The virgin-seed of Jove, In Mentor’s form, confirm’d the full accord, And willing nations knew their lawful lord.