Page:An Essay on Virgil's Æneid.djvu/43

Rh Nor far from thence, proud ’ Tents he knows By their white Veils, that match’d the winter Snows, Betray’d and stretch’d amidst his slaughter’d Train, And, while he slept, by fierce slain. Who drove his Coursers from the Scene of Blood, E’er the fierce Steeds had tasted Trojan Food, Or drank divine ’s fatal Flood.


 * flies disarm’d, unhappy Boy!

From stern, round the Fields of ; Unequal he! to such an Arm in War! Supine, and trailing, from his empty Car, Still, tho’ in Death, he grasps the flowing Reins, His startled Coursers whirl him o’er the Plains, The Spear, inverted, streaks the Dust around, His snowy Neck and Tresses sweep the Ground. Mean time a pensive supplicating Train Of Trojan Matrons, to ’s Fane In