So Mars is armed, for glory, not for need. 'Tis somewhat more from Neptune to proceed, Than from a daughter of the sea to spring; Thy sire is mortal; mine is Ocean's king. Secure of death, I should contemn thy dart, Though naked, and impassible depart.-- He said, and threw; the trembling weapon passed } Through nine bull-hides, each under other placed, } On his broad shield, and stuck within the last. } Achilles wrenched it out; and sent again The hostile gift; the hostile gift was vain. He tried a third, a tough well-chosen spear; The inviolable body stood sincere, Though Cygnus then did no defence provide, But scornful offered his unshielded side. Not otherwise the impatient hero fared, Than as a bull, encompassed with a guard, Amid the circus roars; provoked from far By sight of scarlet, and a sanguine war. They quit their ground, his bended horns elude, In vain pursuing, and in vain pursued. Before to farther fight he would advance, He stood considering, and surveyed his lance. Doubts if he wielded not a wooden spear Without a point; he looked, the point was there. This is my hand, and this my lance, he said, } By which so many thousand foes are dead. } O whither is their usual virtue fled! } I had it once; and the Lyrnessian wall, And Tenedos, confessed it in their fall. Thy streams, Caicus, rolled a crimson flood; And Thebes ran red with her own natives' blood. Twice Telephus employed their piercing steel, To wound him first, and afterward to heal. The vigour of this arm was never vain; } And that my wonted prowess I retain, } Witness these heaps of slaughter on the plain.-- } He said, and, doubtful of his former deeds, To some new trial of his force proceeds. He chose Menætes from among the rest; At him he lanced his spear, and pierced his breast; On the hard earth the Lycian knocked his head, And lay supine; and forth the spirit fled. Then thus the hero: Neither can I blame The hand, or javelin; both are still the same. The same I will employ against this foe, And wish but with the same success to throw.-- So spoke the chief, and while he spoke he threw; The weapon with unerring fury flew, At his left shoulder aimed; nor entrance found; But back, as from a rock, with swift rebound Harmless returned; a bloody mark appeared, Which with false joy the flattered hero cheered. Wound there was none; the blood that was in view, The lance before from slain Menætes drew. Headlong he leaps from off his lofty car, And in close fight on foot renews the war; Raging with high disdain, repeats his blows; Nor shield nor armour can their force oppose;