His shouts incessant every Greek inspire,

But most the Ajaces, adding fire to fire.

'Tis yours, O warriors, all our hopes to raise:

Oh recollect your ancient worth and praise!

Tis yours to save us, if you cease to fear;

Flight, more than shameful, is destructive here.

On other works though Troy with fury fall,

And pour her armies o'er our batter'd wall:

There Greece has strength: but this, this part o'erthrown,

Her strength were vain; I dread for you alone:

Here Hector rages like the force of fire,

Vaunts of his gods, and calls high Jove his sire:

If yet some heavenly power your breast excite,

Breathe in your hearts, and string your arms to fight,

Greece yet may live, her threaten'd fleet maintain:

And Hector's force, and Jove's own aid, be vain."

Then with his sceptre, that the deep controls,

He touch'd the chiefs, and steel'd their manly souls:

Strength, not their own, the touch divine imparts,

Prompts their light limbs, and swells their daring hearts.

Then, as a falcon from the rocky height,

Her quarry seen, impetuous at the sight,

Forth-springing instant, darts herself from high,

Shoots on the wing, and skims along the sky:

473

The Iliad of Homer