Of shame upon him fell midst those of heaven, His gory trophies leaving to these hands.” So said he: but in no wise to obey Enter’d the thought of Cygnus the spear-skill’d: Nor rein’d he back the chariot-whirling steeds. Then truly from their close-compacted cars Instant as thought they leap’d to earth: the son Of kingly Mars, the son of mighty Jove. Aside, though not remote, the charioteers The coursers drove of flowing manes: but then Beneath the trampling sound of rushing feet The broad earth sounded hollow: and [270]as rocks From some high mountain-top precipitate Leap with a bound, and o’er each other whirl’d Shock in the dizzying fall: and many an oak Of lofty branch, pine-tree and poplar deep Of root are crash’d beneath them, as their course Rapidly rolls, till now they touch the plain; So met these foes encountering, and so burst Their mighty clamour. Echoing loud throughout The city of the Myrmidons gave back Their lifted voices, and Iolchos famed, And Arne, and Anthea’s grass-girt walls, And Helice. Thus with amazing shout They join’d in battle: all-considering Jove Then greatly thunder’d: from the clouds of heaven [271]He cast forth dews of blood, and signal thus Of onset gave to his high-daring son. [272]As in the mountain thickets the wild boar, Grim to behold, and arm’d with jutting fangs, Now with his hunters meditates in wrath The conflict, whetting his white tusks aslant: Foam drops around his churning jaws; his eyes Show like to glimmering fires, and o’er his neck And roughen’d back he raises up erect The starting bristles, from the chariot whirl’d By steeds of war such leap’d the son of Jove. ’Twas in that season when, on some green bough High-perch’d, the dusky-wing’d cicada first Shrill chants to man a summer note; his drink, His balmy food, the vegetative dew: The livelong day from early dawn he pours His voice, what time the sun’s exhaustive heat Fierce dries the frame: ’twas in that season when The bristly ears of millet spring with grain Which they in summer sow: when the crude grape Faint reddens on the vine, which Bacchus gave The joy or anguish of the race of men;— E’en in that season join’d the war; and vast The battle’s tumult rose into the heaven. [273]As two grim lions for a roebuck slain Wroth in contention rush, and them betwixt The sound of roaring and of clashing teeth Ariseth; or [274]as vultures, curved of beak, Crooked of talon, on a steepy rock Contest loud-screaming; if perchance below Some mountain-pastur’d goat or forest-stag Sleek press the plain; whom far the hunter youth Pierced with fleet arrow from the bow-string shrill Dismiss’d, and elsewhere wander’d, of the spot Unknowing: they with keenest heed the prize