grasps the bloody dust in death. The victor from his breast the weapon tears; His spoils he could not, for the shower of spears. Though now unfit an active war to wage, Heavy with cumbrous arms, stiff with cold age, His listless limbs unable for the course, In standing fight he yet maintains his force; Till faint with labour, and by foes repell'd, His tired slow steps he drags from off the field. Deiphobus beheld him as he pass'd, And, fired with hate, a parting javelin cast: The javelin err'd, but held its course along, And pierced Ascalaphus, the brave and young: The son of Mars fell gasping on the ground, And gnash'd the dust, all bloody with his wound. Nor knew the furious father of his fall; High-throned amidst the great Olympian hall, On golden clouds th' immortal synod sate; Detain'd from bloody war by Jove and Fate. Now, where in dust the breathless hero lay, For slain Ascalaphus commenced the fray, Deiphobus to seize his helmet flies, And from his temples rends the glittering prize; Valiant as Mars, Meriones drew near, And on his loaded arm discharged his spear: He drops the weight, disabled with the pain; The hollow helmet rings against the plain. Swift as a vulture leaping on his prey, From his torn arm the Grecian rent away The reeking javelin, and rejoin'd his friends. His wounded brother good Polites tends; Around his waist his pious arms he threw, And from the rage of battle gently drew: Him his swift coursers, on his splendid car, Rapt from the lessening thunder of the war; To Troy they drove him, groaning from the shore, And sprinkling, as he pass'd, the sands with gore. Meanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the sanguine ground, Heaps fall on heaps, and heaven and earth resound. Bold Aphareus by great Ćneas bled; As toward the chief he turn'd his daring head, He pierced his throat; the bending head, depress'd Beneath his helmet, nods upon his breast; His shield reve