Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/167

Book 12. Raging with high Disdain, repeats his Blows; Nor Shield, nor Armour can their Force oppose; Huge Cantlets of his Buckler strew the Ground, And no Defence in his bor'd Arms is found. But on his Flesh, no Wound or Blood is seen; The Sword it self is blunted on the Skin. This vain Attempt the Chief no longer bears; But round his hollow Temples and his Ears His Buckler beats: The Sun of Neptune, stunn'd With these repeated Buffets, quits his Ground; A sickly Sweat succeeds, and Shades of Night; Inverted Nature swims before his Sight: Th' insulting Victor presses on the more, And treads the Steps the Vanquish'd trod before, Nor Rest, nor Respite gives. A Stone there lay Behind his trembling Foe, and stopp'd his Way: Achilles took th' Advantage which he found, O'er-turn'd, and push'd him backward on the Ground, His Buckler held him under, while he press'd, With both his Knees, above his panting Breast. Unlac'd his Helm: About his Chin the Twist He ty'd; and soon the strangled Soul dismiss'd. With eager Haste he went to strip the Dead: The vanish'd Body from his Arms was fled. His Sea-God Sire, t'immortalize his Frame, Had turn'd it to a Bird that bears his Name. A Truce succeeds the Labours of this Day, And Arms suspended with a long Delay. While Trojan Walls are kept with Watch and Ward; The Greeks before their Trenches mount the Guard; The Feast approach'd; when to the blue-ey'd Maid His Vows for Cygnus slain the Victor paid, And a white Heyfer on her Altar laid. The reeking Entrails on the Fire they threw, And to the Gods the grateful Odour flew: Heav'n