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316 Fell rage inspiring all his mind,

The unfinished work he leaves behind,

And rushes to the gates amain

To cope with that presumptuous twain.

First on Antiphates he bore,

Whom chance had planted in the fore,

The great Sarpedon's spurious seed,

Born of a dame of Theban breed.

The cornel hurtles through the skies;

Straight to the stomach's pit it flies,

And lodges 'neath the bosom's core,

While the dark cavern wells with gore.

Then Merops, Erymas the brave,

And young Aphidnus find a grave,

And Bitias, as with eyes aglow

And bursting rage he fronts his foe:

No dart was thrown: a puny dart

Had scarcely reached that giant heart;

No, 'twas a huge falaric spear,

Thundering in levin-like career,

That left the victor's hand:

Not two bull-hides, nor corslet mail,

Though plaited twice with golden scale,

The onset might withstand.

The vast frame tumbles on the field;

Groans the jarred earth, loud clangs the shield.

'Tis thus descends in later day

The granite pile in Baiæ's bay,

Compact of many a block:

E'en thus, in mighty downfall sped,

It sinks into the oozy bed

With vast reverberant shock:

Up mounts the sand from depths profound:

Lone Prochyta perceives the sound

Thrill deep through cave and rock,