Page:Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral.djvu/117

Soon as the arrow left the deadly wound,
His issuing entrails smoak'd upon the ground.

What woes on blooming Damasichon wait!

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His sighs portend his near impending fare.
Just where the well-made leg begins to be,
And the soft sinews form the supple knee,
The youth fore wounded by the Delian god

Attempts t' extract the crime-avenging rod,

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But, whilst he strives the will of fate t' avert,
Divine Apollo sends a second dart;
Swift thro' his throat the featherd mischief flies,
Bereft of sense, he drops his head, and dies.

Young Ilioneus, the laft, directs his pray'r,

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And cries, "My life, ye gods celestial! spare."
Apollo heard, and pity touch'd his heart,
But ah! too late, for he had sent the dart:
Thou too, O Ilioneus, are doom'd to fall,

The fates refuse that arrow to recal.

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