52
BATTLE OF THE
Brawlers accurst! then weave we deep device,
Foil trick with trick, and crush the traitor-mice.
But heed my words, for, as beseemeth best,
These lips shall speak, ay, heed your chief's behest;
Don we our mail of proof, and all take post
On land's last brink, where shelves sheer down the coast.
When on our ranks with onslaught wild they burst,
Grasp each his helmet whom you grapple first,
And fling amid the waves; then far below,
·Full fathom five,' fast lock in death the foe.
Unbuoyant herd! one plunge will them suffice,
One hearty plunge—then forth and in a trice
Raise we our trophy o'er the slaughtered Mice."
He spake, and all forthwith were arm'd; the greaves
That sheathed their shins were wrought of mallow-leaves;
Of fresh wide beet they wore their shirts of mail,
Their targets—fashion'd from the leaves of kail,
For lengthy lance a keen-tipt reed served well,
Fenced was each brow—its helm a cockle-shell:
Thus arm'd, along the towery cliffs they stood,
Shook their sharp spears and thirsted deep for blood.
But Jove, meanwhile, amid the starry skies
Convened the gods, and set before their eyes
The murderous mass of war—the warriors fierce,
A myriad host, and arm'd with mighty spears,—
(Not such their numbers, nor the host so dread,
By Centaur-chief or earthborn giant led9,)
Then smiling spake:—
Foil trick with trick, and crush the traitor-mice.
But heed my words, for, as beseemeth best,
These lips shall speak, ay, heed your chief's behest;
Don we our mail of proof, and all take post
On land's last brink, where shelves sheer down the coast.
When on our ranks with onslaught wild they burst,
Grasp each his helmet whom you grapple first,
And fling amid the waves; then far below,
·Full fathom five,' fast lock in death the foe.
Unbuoyant herd! one plunge will them suffice,
One hearty plunge—then forth and in a trice
Raise we our trophy o'er the slaughtered Mice."
He spake, and all forthwith were arm'd; the greaves
That sheathed their shins were wrought of mallow-leaves;
Of fresh wide beet they wore their shirts of mail,
Their targets—fashion'd from the leaves of kail,
For lengthy lance a keen-tipt reed served well,
Fenced was each brow—its helm a cockle-shell:
Thus arm'd, along the towery cliffs they stood,
Shook their sharp spears and thirsted deep for blood.
But Jove, meanwhile, amid the starry skies
Convened the gods, and set before their eyes
The murderous mass of war—the warriors fierce,
A myriad host, and arm'd with mighty spears,—
(Not such their numbers, nor the host so dread,
By Centaur-chief or earthborn giant led9,)
Then smiling spake:—
