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Nor silence is within, nor voice express,
But a deaf noise of sounds, that never cease.
Confused, and chiding, like the hollow roar
Of tides receding from the insulted shore;
Or like the broken thunder heard from far,
When Jove to distance drives the rolling war.
The courts are fill'd with a tumultuous din
Of crowds, or issuing forth, or entering in ;
A thoroughfare of news, where some devise
Things never heard, some mingle truth with lies;
The troubled air with empty sounds they beat,
Intent to hear, and eager to repeat;

Error sits brooding there, with added train
Of vain credulity, and joys as vain :
Suspicion, with sedition join'd, are near,

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And rumors raised, and murmurs mix'd, and panic

fear.

Fame sits aloft, and sees the subject ground,

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And seas about, and skies above; inquiring all around.
The goddess gives the alarm, and soon is known
The Grecian fleet descending on the town.
Fix'd on defence, the Trojans are not slow
To guard their shore from an expected foe.
They meet in fight. By Hector's fatal hand
Protesilaus falls, and bites the strand;
Which with expense of blood the Grecians won,
And proved the strength unknown of Priam's son:
And to their cost the Trojan leaders felt
The Grecian heroes, and what deaths they dealt.

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STORY OF CYGNUS.

CYGNUS, a son of Neptune, and invulnerable in every part of his body, is at length strangled by Achilles, who strips him of his armor, when he is changed into a swan.

FROM these first onsets, the Sigæan shore

Was strew'd with carcases, and stain'd with gore. 100
Neptunian Cygnus troops of Greeks had slain ;
Achilles in his car had scour'd the plain,

And clear'd the Trojan ranks; where'er he fought,
Cygnus, or Hector, through the fields he sought.
Cygnus he found; on him his force essay'd;
For Hector was to the tenth year delay'd.

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His white-maned steeds, that bow'd beneath the

yoke,

He cheer'd to courage, with a gentle stroke,
Then urged his fiery chariot on the foe,

And rising shook his lance, in act to throw.

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But first, he cried, O youth be proud to bear

Thy death, ennobled by Pelides' spear.'
The lance pursued the voice without delay,
Nor did the whizzing weapon miss the way,
But pierced his cuirass, with such fury sent,
And sign'd his bosom with a purple dint.
At this the seed of Neptune; Goddess born,
For ornament, not use, these arms are worn;
This helm, and heavy buckler, I can spare,
As only decorations of the war;

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So Mars is arm'd for glory, not for need.

"Tis somewhat more from Neptune to proceed, Than from a daughter of the sea to spring: Thy sire is mortal, mine is ocean's king.

Secure of death, I should contemn thy dart,
Though naked, and impassible depart.'

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He said, and threw; the trembling weapon pass'd
Through nine bull hides, each under other placed,
On his broad shield, and stuck within the last.
Achilles wrench'd it out, and sent again
The hostile gift: the hostile gift was vain.
He tried a third, a tough well-chosen spear,
The inviolable body stood sincere,
Though Cycnus then did no defence provide,
But scornful offer'd his unshielded side.

Not otherwise the impatient hero fared,
Than as a bull encompass'd with a guard,
Amid the circus roars, provoked from far
By sight of scarlet and a sanguine war:

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They quit their ground; his bended horns elude; 140 In vain pursuing, and in vain pursued.

Before to farther fight he would advance,

He stood considering, and survey'd his lance;
Doubts if he wielded not a wooden spear

Without a point: he look'd; the point was there. 145
This is my hand, and this my lance,' he said,

By which so many thousand foes are dead;

O whither is their usual virtue fled!

I had it once; and the Lyrnessian wall,

And Tenedos, confess'd it in their fall.

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Thy streams, Caicus, roll'd a crimson flood;

And Thebes ran red with her own natives' blood.

Twice Telephus employ'd their piercing steel,

To wound him first, and afterward to heal.
The vigor of this arm was never vain:

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And that my wonted prowess I retain,

Witness these heaps of slaughter on the plain.’

He said; and, doubtful of his former deeds,

To some new trial of his force proceeds.
He chose Menætes from among the rest;

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At him he launch'd his spear, and pierced his breast:

OVID.

VOL. II.

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On the hard earth the Lycian knock'd his head,
And lay supine, and forth the spirit fled.

Then thus the hero: Neither can I blame
The hand or javelin; both are still the same:
The same I will employ against this foe,
And wish but with the same success to throw.'
So spoke the chief; and while he spoke he threw ;
The weapon with unerring fury flew,—

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At his left shoulder aim'd; nor entrance found;
But back, as from a rock, with swift rebound,
Harmless return'd: a bloody mark appear'd,
Which with false joy the flatter'd hero cheer'd:
Wound there was none; the blood that was in

view,

The lance before from slain Menætes drew.

Headlong he leaps from off his lofty car, And in close fight on foot renews the war: Raging with high disdain, repeats his blows: Nor shield nor armor can their force oppose: Huge cantlets of his buckler strew the ground, And no defence in his bored arms is found: But on his flesh no wound or blood is seen; The sword itself is blunted on the skin.

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This vain attempt the chief no longer bears,
But round his hollow temples and his ears
His buckler beats: the son of Neptune, stunn'd
With these repeated buffets, quits his ground;
A sickly sweat succeeds, and shades of night ;
Inverted nature swims before his sight:
The insulting victor presses on the more,
And treads the steps the vanquish'd trod before,
Nor rest nor respite gives. A stone there lay
Behind his trembling foe, and stopp'd his way :
Achilles took the advantage which he found,

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O'erturn'd, and push'd him backward on the ground.

His buckler held him under, while he press'd
With both his knees above his panting breast:
Unlaced his helm: about his chin the twist
He tied; and soon the strangled soul dismiss'd.
With eager haste he went to strip the dead:
The vanish'd body from his arms was fled :
His sea-
a-god sire, to immortalise his frame,
Had turn'd it to the bird that bears his name.
A truce succeeds the labors of this day,
And arms suspended with a long delay.

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While Trojan walls are kept with watch and ward,
The Greeks before their trenches mount the guard:
The feast approach'd, when to the blue-eyed maid
His vows for Cycnus slain the victor paid,
And a white heifer on her altar laid:
The reeking entrails on the fire they threw,
And to the gods the grateful odor flew :
Heaven had its part in sacrifice; the rest

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Was broil'd and roasted for the future feast.

The chief-invited guests were set around;

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And, hunger first assuaged, the bowls were crown'd, Which in deep draughts their cares and labors

drown'd.

The mellow harp did not their ears employ;

And mute was all the warlike symphony:

Discourse, the food of souls, was their delight,

And pleasing chat prolong'd the summer's night;
The subject, deeds of arms, and valor shown,
Or on the Trojan side, or on their own:

Of dangers undertaken, fame achieved,

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They talk'd by turns,—the talk by turus relieved. 225
What things but these could fierce Achilles tell;

Or what could fierce Achilles hear so well?
The last great act perform'd, of Cycnus slain,
Did most the martial audience entertain;

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