Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/216

136 His Neck well-turn'd with golden Chains was grac'd, His Hair with Myrrh perfum'd, was nicely dress'd. Tho' with just Aim he cou'd the Javelin throw, Yet with more Skill he drew the bending Bow; And now was drawing it with artful Hand, When Perseus snatching up a flaming Brand, Whirl'd sudden at his Face the burning Wood, Crush'd his Eyes in, and quench'd the Fire with Blood; Thro' the soft Skin the splinter'd Bones appear, And spoil'd the Face that lately was so fair. When Lycabas his Athis thus beheld, How was his Heart with friendly Horror fill'd! A Youth so noble, to his Soul so dear, To see his shapeless Look, his dying Groans to hear! He snatch'd the Bow the Boy was us'd to bend, And cry'd, with me, false Traytor, dare contend; Boast not a Conquest o'er a Child, but try Thy Strength with me, who all thy Pow'rs defy; Nor think so mean an Act a Victory. While yet he spoke he flung the whizzing Dart, Which pierc'd the plaited Robe, but miss'd his Heart: Perseus defy'd, upon him fiercely press'd With Sword unsheath'd, and plung'd it in his Breast; His Eyes overwhelm'd with Night, he stumbling falls, And with his latest Breath on Athis calls; Pleas'd that so near the lovely Youth he lies, He sinks his Head upon his Friend, and dies. Next eager Phorbas, old Methion's Son, Came rushing forward with Amphimedon; When the smooth Pavement, slippery made with Gore, Trip'd up their Feet, and flung 'em on the Floor; The Sword of Perseus, who by chance was nigh, Prevents their Rise, and where they fall, they lye: Full in his Ribs Amphimedon he smote, And then stuck fiery Phorbas in the Throat. Eurythus