Ancæus falls; his bowels from the wound Rush out, and clotted blood distains the ground. Pirithous, no small portion of the war, Pressed on, and shook his lance; to whom from far, Thus Theseus cried: O stay, my better part, My more than mistress; of my heart, the heart! The strong may fight aloof: Ancæus tried His force too near, and by presuming died.-- He said, and, while he spake, his javelin threw; Hissing in air, the unerring weapon flew; But on an arm of oak, that stood betwixt The marksman and the mark, his lance he fixt. Once more bold Jason threw, but failed to wound } The boar, and slew an undeserving hound; } And through the dog the dart was nailed to ground. } Two spears from Meleager's hand were sent, With equal force, but various in the event; The first was fixed in earth, the second stood On the boar's bristled back, and deeply drank his blood. Now, while the tortured savage turns around, And flings about his foam, impatient of the wound, The wound's great author, close at hand, provokes His rage, and plies him with redoubled strokes; Wheels as he wheels, and with his pointed dart Explores the nearest passage to his heart. Quick, and more quick, he spins in giddy gyres, Then falls, and in much foam his soul expires. This act with shouts heaven high the friendly band Applaud, and strain in theirs the victor's hand. Then all approach the slain with vast surprise, Admire on what a breadth of earth he lies; And, scarce secure, reach out their spears afar, And blood their points, to prove their partnership of war. But he, the conquering chief, his foot impressed On the strong neck of that destructive beast; And gazing on the nymph with ardent eyes, Accept, said he, fair Nonacrine, my prize; And, though inferior, suffer me to join My labours, and my part of praise, with thine.-- At this presents her with the tusky head And chine, with rising bristles roughly spread. Glad, she received the gift; and seemed to take With double pleasure, for the giver's sake. The rest were seized with sullen discontent, And a deaf murmur through the squadron went: All envied; but the Thestyan brethren showed The least respect, and thus they vent their spleen aloud: Lay down those honoured spoils, nor think to share, Weak woman as thou art, the prize of war; Ours is the title, thine a foreign claim, Since Meleagrus from our lineage came. Trust not thy beauty; but restore the prize, Which he, besotted on that face and eyes, Would rend from us.--At this, inflamed with spite, From her they snatch the gift, from him the giver's right. But soon the impatient prince his faulchion drew, And cried,--Ye robbers of another's due, Now learn the difference, at your proper cost,