And Hippasus, whose beard his breast invades; And Ripheus, haunter of the woodland shades; And Tereus, used with mountain-bears to strive; And from their dens to draw the indignant beasts alive. Demoleon could not bear this hateful sight, Or the long fortune of the Athenian knight; But pulled with all his force, to disengage From earth a pine, the product of an age: The root stuck fast: the broken trunk he sent At Theseus: Theseus frustrates his intent, And leaps aside, by Pallas warned, the blow To shun: (for so he said; and we believed it so.) Yet not in vain the enormous weight was cast, Which Crantor's body sundered at the waist: Thy father's squire, Achilles, and his care; Whom, conquered in the Dolopeian war, Their king, his present ruin to prevent, A pledge of peace implored, to Peleus sent. Thy sire, with grieving eyes, beheld his fate; And cried, Not long, loved Crantor, shalt thou wait Thy vowed revenge.--At once he said, and threw His ashen-spear, which quivered as it flew, With all his force and all his soul applied; The sharp point entered in the Centaur's side: Both hands, to wrench it out, the monster joined, And wrenched it out, but left the steel behind. Stuck in his lungs it stood; enraged he rears His hoofs, and down to ground thy father bears. Thus trampled under foot, his shield defends His head; his other hand the lance portends. Even while he lay extended on the dust, He sped the Centaur, with one single thrust. Two more his lance before transfixed from far, And two his sword had slain in closer war. To these was added Dorylas; who spread A bull's two goring horns around his head. With these he pushed; in blood already dyed, Him, fearless, I approached, and thus defied;-- Now, monster, now, by proof it shall appear, Whether thy horns are sharper, or my spear.-- At this, I threw; for want of other ward, He lifted up his hand, his front to guard. His hand it passed, and fixed it to his brow. Loud shouts of ours attend the lucky blow: Him Peleus finished, with a second wound, } Which through the navel pierced; he reeled around, } And dragged his dangling bowels on the ground; } Trod what he dragged, and what he trod he crushed; And to his mother-earth, with empty belly, rushed. Nor could thy form, O Cyllarus, foreshow Thy fate, if form to monsters men allow: Just bloomed thy beard, thy beard of golden hue; Thy locks, in golden waves, about thy shoulders flew, Sprightly thy look; thy shapes in every part So clean, as might instruct the sculptor's art, As far as man extended; where began The beast, the beast was equal to the man. Add but a horse's head and neck, and he, O Castor, was a courser worthy thee. So was his back proportioned for the seat;