The sire of gods, confirming Thetis' prayer, The Grecian ardour quench'd in deep despair; But lifts to glory Troy's prevailing bands, Swells all their hearts, and strengthens all their hands. On Ida's top he waits with longing eyes, To view the navy blazing to the skies; Then, nor till then, the scale of war shall turn, The Trojans fly, and conquer'd Ilion burn. These fates revolved in his almighty mind, He raises Hector to the work design'd, Bids him with more than mortal fury glow, And drives him, like a lightning, on the foe. So Mars, when human crimes for vengeance call, Shakes his huge javelin, and whole armies fall. Not with more rage a conflagration rolls, Wraps the vast mountains, and involves the poles. He foams with wrath; beneath his gloomy brow Like fiery meteors his red eye-balls glow: The radiant helmet on his temple burns, Waves when he nods, and lightens as he turns: For Jove his splendour round the chief had thrown, And cast the blaze of both the hosts on one. Unhappy glories! for his fate was near, Due to stern Pallas, and Pelides' spear: Yet Jove deferr'd the death he was to pay, And gave what fate allow'd, the honours of a day! Now all on fire for fame, his breast, his eyes Burn at each foe, and single every prize; Still at the closest ranks, the thickest fight, He points his ardour, and exerts his might. The Grecian phalanx, moveless as a tower, On all sides batter'd, yet resists his power: So some tall rock o'erhangs the hoary main,(241) By winds assail'd, by billows beat in vain, Unmoved it hears, above, the tempest blow, And sees the watery mountains break below. Girt in surrounding flames, he seems to fall Like fire from Jove, and bursts upon them all: Bursts as a wave that from the cloud impends, And, swell'd with tempests, on the ship descends; White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud Howl o'er the masts, and sing through every shroud: Pale, tremb