Or milk-white swans in Asius' watery plains. That, o'er the windings of Cayster's springs,(97) Stretch their long necks, and clap their rustling wings, Now tower aloft, and course in airy rounds, Now light with noise; with noise the field resounds. Thus numerous and confused, extending wide, The legions crowd Scamander's flowery side;(98) With rushing troops the plains are cover'd o'er, And thundering footsteps shake the sounding shore. Along the river's level meads they stand, Thick as in spring the flowers adorn the land, Or leaves the trees; or thick as insects play, The wandering nation of a summer's day: That, drawn by milky steams, at evening hours, In gather'd swarms surround the rural bowers; From pail to pail with busy murmur run The gilded legions, glittering in the sun. So throng'd, so close, the Grecian squadrons stood In radiant arms, and thirst for Trojan blood. Each leader now his scatter'd force conjoins In close array, and forms the deepening lines. Not with more ease the skilful shepherd-swain Collects his flocks from thousands on the plain. The king of kings, majestically tall, Towers o'er his armies, and outshines them all; Like some proud bull, that round the pastures leads His subject herds, the monarch of the meads, Great as the gods, the exalted chief was seen, His strength like Neptune, and like Mars his mien;(99) Jove o'er his eyes celestial glories spread, And dawning conquest played around his head. Say, virgins, seated round the throne divine, All-knowing goddesses! immortal nine!(100) Since earth's wide regions, heaven's umneasur'd height, And hell's abyss, hide nothing from your sight, (We, wretched mortals! lost in doubts below, But guess by rumour, and but boast we know,) O say what heroes, fired by thirst of fame, Or urged by wrongs, to Troy's destruction came. To count them all, demands a thousand tongues, A throat of brass, and adamantine lungs.