Page:Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral.djvu/117

Rh Soon as the arrow left the deadly wound, His issuing entrails smoak'd upon the ground.

What woes on blooming Damasichon wait! His sighs portend his near impending fare. Just where the well-made leg begins to be, And the soft sinews form the supple knee, The youth fore wounded by the Delian god Attempts t' extract the crime-avenging rod, But, whilst he strives the will of fate t' avert, Divine Apollo sends a second dart; Swift thro' his throat the featherd mischief flies, Bereft of sense, he drops his head, and dies.

Young Ilioneus, the laft, directs his pray'r, And cries, "My life, ye gods celestial! spare." Apollo heard, and pity touch'd his heart, But ah! too late, for he had sent the dart: Thou too, O Ilioneus, are doom'd to fall, The fates refuse that arrow to recal.

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