112
Orion.
[Book III.
He smote; the base gave way; the pillar fell;
And with it fell the roof, and buried him.
And with it fell the roof, and buried him.
With equal skill Biastor wrought his fate.
On a long terrace, which precipitously
Looked down on suburb gardens deep below,
Near to the edge upon a pediment stood
A great gilt statue to Encolyon,
By the high rulers reverently set up;
And this inscription bearing on its base;—
"To the Wheel-chainer! Reiner-in of steeds!
August preserver of revered decay;
Votive—erected by a people's love."
On a long terrace, which precipitously
Looked down on suburb gardens deep below,
Near to the edge upon a pediment stood
A great gilt statue to Encolyon,
By the high rulers reverently set up;
And this inscription bearing on its base;—
"To the Wheel-chainer! Reiner-in of steeds!
August preserver of revered decay;
Votive—erected by a people's love."
Biastor, covered with a brazen shield,
Whirling his sword, and seeing not his way,
A panic-stricken crowd before him drove
On tow'rds the parapet. Thence to escape,
Some desperately rush back—are cloven down—
The rest throng round the statue. It was carved
Of wood, and at its flat square base the sun
Had often turned a scornful glance, and made
Dry flaws, wherein had crept and nestled, rot.
They cling around its knees!—the giant Force
Whirling his sword, and seeing not his way,
A panic-stricken crowd before him drove
On tow'rds the parapet. Thence to escape,
Some desperately rush back—are cloven down—
The rest throng round the statue. It was carved
Of wood, and at its flat square base the sun
Had often turned a scornful glance, and made
Dry flaws, wherein had crept and nestled, rot.
They cling around its knees!—the giant Force
