With brazen arms and steeds elate
The crowd rush'd on to open fate;50
And vanquish'd on Ismenus' banks,
Cut off from hope of sweet return,
The bodies of their slaughtered ranks,
Fattening the lurid volumes, burn;
For, placed on seven funereal pyres,55
The youthful heroes feed the fires.
Jove the earth's solid bosom broke
By his all-potent thunder stroke,
And low Amphiaraus laid
In chariot with the steeds array'd,60
Ere, Periclymenus, thy spear
Controll'd his warlike mind's career,
And on his wounded back a trace
Fix'd of indelible disgrace. 63
For when the gods with fears excite,65
Their very sons are moved to flight.
Oh! that my prayers, Saturnian Jove,
The dire essay and warlike boast
That rouses the Phœnician host
Could far from Ætna's walls remove,70
Of thee a long and prosperous fate
I for her children supplicate; 75
Whose favour can the people crown
With civic honour and renown.
A race of men inhabit there,75
Well pleased the generous steed to train,
Who an exalted spirit bear,
That soars above the thirst of gain.
Incredible my words must prove
For shame and glory's noble fire,80
Quench'd in unequal strife, expire
With lucre's mercenary love.
Oh! hadst thou stood by Chromius' side
