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      And grassy Pteleon deck’d with cheerful greens,

      The bowers of Ceres, and the sylvan scenes.

      Sweet Pyrrhasus, with blooming flowerets crown’d,

      And Antron’s watery dens, and cavern’d ground.

      These own’d, as chief, Protesilas the brave,

      Who now lay silent in the gloomy grave:

      The first who boldly touch’d the Trojan shore,

      And dyed a Phrygian lance with Grecian gore;

      There lies, far distant from his native plain;

      Unfinish’d his proud palaces remain,

      And his sad consort beats her breast in vain.

      His troops in forty ships Podarces led,

      Iphiclus’ son, and brother to the dead;

      Nor he unworthy to command the host;

      Yet still they mourn’d their ancient leader lost.

      The men who Glaphyra’s fair soil partake,

      Where hills incircle Boebe’s lowly lake,

      Where Phaere hears the neighbouring waters fall,

      Or proud Iolcus lifts her airy wall,

      In ten black ships embark’d for Ilion’s shore,

      With bold Eumelus, whom Alceste bore:

      All Pelias’ race Alceste far outshined,

      The grace and glory of the beauteous kind,

      The troops Methone or Thaumacia yields,

      Olizon’s rocks, or Meliboea’s fields,

      With Philoctetes sail’d whose matchless art

      From the tough bow directs the feather’d dart.

      Seven were his ships; each vessel fifty row,

      Skill’d in his science of the dart and bow.

      But he lay raging on the Lemnian ground,

      A poisonous hydra gave the burning wound;

      There groan’d the chief in agonizing pain,

      Whom Greece at length shall wish, nor wish in vain.

      His forces Medon led from Lemnos’ shore,

      Oileus’ son, whom beauteous Rhena bore.

      The Œchalian race, in those high towers contain’d

      Where once Eurytus in proud triumph reign’d,

      Or where her humbler turrets Tricca rears,

      Or where Ithome, rough with rocks, appears,

      In thirty sail the sparkling waves divide,

      Which Podalirius and Machaon guide.

      To these his skill their parent-god imparts,

      Divine professors of the healing arts.

      The bold Ormenian and Asterian bands

      In forty barks Eurypylus commands.

      Where Titan hides his hoary head in snow,

      And where Hyperia’s silver fountains flow.

      Thy troops, Argissa, Polypoetes leads,

      And Eleon, shelter’d by Olympus’ shades,

      Gyrtone’s warriors; and where Orthe lies,

      And Oloosson’s chalky cliffs arise.

      Sprung from Pirithous of immortal race,

      The fruit of fair Hippodame’s embrace,

      (That day, when hurl’d from Pelion’s cloudy head,

      To distant dens the shaggy Centaurs fled)

      With Polypoetes join’d in equal sway

      Leonteus leads, and forty ships obey.

      In twenty sail the bold Perrhaebians came

      From Cyphus, Guneus was their leader’s name.

      With these the Enians join’d, and those who freeze

      Where cold Dodona lifts her holy trees;

      Or where the pleasing Titaresius glides,

      And into Peneus rolls his easy tides;

      Yet o’er the silvery surface pure they flow,

      The sacred stream unmix’d with streams below,

      Sacred and awful! from the dark abodes

      Styx pours them forth, the dreadful oath of gods!

      Last, under Prothous the Magnesians stood,

      (Prothous the swift, of old Tenthredon’s blood;)

      Who dwell where Pelion, crown’d with piny boughs,

      Obscures the glade, and nods his shaggy brows;

      Or where through flowery Tempe Peneus stray’d:

      (The region stretch’d beneath his mighty shade:)

      In forty sable barks they stemm’d the main;

      Such were the chiefs, and such the Grecian train.

      Say next, O Muse! of all Achaia breeds,

      Who bravest fought, or rein’d the noblest steeds?

      Eumelus’ mares were foremost in the chase,

      As eagles fleet, and of Pheretian race;

      Bred where Pieria’s fruitful fountains flow,

      And train’d by him who bears the silver bow.

      Fierce in the fight their nostrils breathed a flame,

      Their height, their colour, and their age the same;

      O’er fields of death they whirl the rapid car,

      And break the ranks, and thunder through the war.

      Ajax in arms the first renown acquired,

      While stern Achilles in his wrath retired:

      (His was the strength that mortal might exceeds,

      And his the unrivall’d race of heavenly steeds:)

      But Thetis’ son now shines in arms no more;

      His troops, neglected on the sandy shore.

      In empty air their sportive javelins throw,

      Or whirl the disk, or bend an idle bow:

      Unstain’d with blood his cover’d chariots stand;

      The immortal coursers graze along the strand;

      But the brave chiefs the inglorious life deplored,

      And, wandering o’er the camp, required their lord.

      Now, like a deluge, covering all around,

      The shining armies sweep along the ground;

      Swift as a flood of fire, when storms arise,

      Floats the wild field, and blazes to the skies.

      Earth groan’d beneath them; as when angry Jove

      Hurls down the forky lightning from above,

      On Arime when he the thunder throws,

      And fires Typhoeus with redoubled blows,

      Where Typhon, press’d beneath the burning load,

      Still feels the fury of the avenging god.

      But various Iris, Jove’s

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