ye gods on high! And may their blood, who first the league confound, Shed like this wine, disdain the thirsty ground; May all their consorts serve promiscuous lust, And all their lust be scatter'd as the dust!" Thus either host their imprecations join'd, Which Jove refused, and mingled with the wind. The rites now finish'd, reverend Priam rose, And thus express'd a heart o'ercharged with woes: "Ye Greeks and Trojans, let the chiefs engage, But spare the weakness of my feeble age: In yonder walls that object let me shun, Nor view the danger of so dear a son. Whose arms shall conquer and what prince shall fall, Heaven only knows; for heaven disposes all." This said, the hoary king no longer stay'd, But on his car the slaughter'd victims laid: Then seized the reins his gentle steeds to guide, And drove to Troy, Antenor at his side. Bold Hector and Ulysses now dispose The lists of combat, and the ground inclose: Next to decide, by sacred lots prepare, Who first shall launch his pointed spear in air. The people pray with elevated hands, And words like these are heard through all the bands: "Immortal Jove, high Heaven's superior lord, On lofty Ida's holy mount adored! Whoe'er involved us in this dire debate, O give that author of the war to fate And shades eternal! let division cease, And joyful nations join in leagues of peace." With eyes averted Hector hastes to turn The lots of fight and shakes the brazen urn. Then, Paris, thine leap'd forth; by fatal chance Ordain'd the first to whirl the weighty lance. Both armies sat the combat to survey. Beside each chief his azure armour lay, And round the lists the generous coursers neigh. The beauteous warrior now arrays for fight, In gilded arms magnificently bright: The purple cuishes clasp his thighs around, With flowers adorn'd, with silver buckles bound: Lycaon's corslet his fair body dress'd, Braced in and fitted to his softer breast