o, seeing the partiality of Jupiter to the Trojans,
forms a design to over-reach him: she sets off her charms with the utmost
care, and (the more surely to enchant him) obtains the magic girdle of
Venus. She then applies herself to the god of sleep, and, with some
difficulty, persuades him to seal the eyes of Jupiter: this done, she goes
to mount Ida, where the god, at first sight, is ravished with her beauty,
sinks in her embraces, and is laid asleep. Neptune takes advantage of his
slumber, and succours the Greeks: Hector is struck to the ground with a
prodigious stone by Ajax, and carried off from the battle: several actions
succeed, till the Trojans, much distressed, are obliged to give way: the
lesser Ajax signalizes himself in a particular manner.

But not the genial feast, nor flowing bowl,
Could charm the cares of Nestor's watchful soul;
His startled ears the increasing cries attend;
Then thus, impatient, to his wounded friend:

"What new alarm, divine Machaon, say,
What mix'd events attend this mighty day?
Hark! how the shouts divide, and how they meet,
And now come full, and thicken to the fleet!
Here with the cordial draught dispel thy care,
Let Hecamede the strengthening bath prepare,
Refresh thy wound, and cleanse the clotted gore;
While I the adventures of the day explore."

He said: and, seizing Thrasymedes' shield,
(His valiant offspring,) hasten'd to the field;
(That day the son his father's buckler bore;)
Then snatch'd a lance, and issued from the door.
Soon as the prospect open'd to his view,
His wounded eyes the scene of sorrow knew;
Dire disarray! the tumult of the fight,
The wall in ruins, and the Greeks in flight.
As when old ocean's silent surface sleeps,
The waves just heaving on the purple deeps:
While yet the expected tempest hangs on high,
Weighs down the cloud, and blackens in the sky,
The mass of waters will no wind obey;
Jove sends one gust, and bids them roll away.
While wavering counsels thus his mind engage,
Fluctuates in doubtful thought the Pylian sage,
To join the host, or to the general haste;
Debating long, he fixes on the last:
Yet, as he moves, the sight his bosom warms,
The field rings dreadful with the clang of arms,
The gleaming falchions flash, the javelins fly;
Blows echo blows, and all or kill or die.

Him, in his march, the wounded princes meet,
By tardy steps ascending from the fleet:
T