Less loud the winds that from the Æolian hall

Roar through the woods, and make whole forests fall;

Less loud the woods, when flames in torrents pour,

Catch the dry mountain, and its shades devour;

With such a rage the meeting hosts are driven,

And such a clamour shakes the sounding heaven.

The first bold javelin, urged by Hector's force,

Direct at Ajax' bosom winged its course;

But there no pass the crossing belts afford,

(One braced his shield, and one sustain'd his sword.)

Then back the disappointed Trojan drew,

And cursed the lance that unavailing flew:

But 'scaped not Ajax; his tempestuous hand

A ponderous stone upheaving from the sand,

(Where heaps laid loose beneath the warrior's feet,

Or served to ballast, or to prop the fleet,)

Toss'd round and round, the missive marble flings;

On the razed shield the fallen ruin rings,

Full on his breast and throat with force descends;

Nor deaden'd there its giddy fury spends,

But whirling on, with many a fiery round,

Smokes in the dust, and ploughs into the ground.

As when the bolt, red-hissing from above,

Darts on the consecrated plant of Jove,

The mountain-oak in flaming ruin lies,

Black from the blow, and smokes of sulphur rise;

534

The Iliad of Homer