Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 2.djvu/27

 Oh, not to me, who well thy grandeur know, But to the pagan herd thy wonders shew!


 * The Lusian host, enraptured, mark'd the sign

That witness'd to their chief the aid divine: Right on the foe they shake the beamy lance, And with firm strides, and heaving breasts, advance; Then burst the silence, hail, O king, they cry; Our king, our king, the echoing dales reply. Fired at the sound, with fiercer ardour glows The heaven-made monarch; on the wareless foes Rushing, he speeds his ardent bands along: So when the chase excites the rustic throng, Roused to fierce madness by their mingled cries, On the wild bull the red-eyed mastiff flies: The stern-brow'd tyrant roars and tears the ground, His watchful horns portend the deathful wound; The nimble mastiff, springing on the foe, Avoids the furious sharpness of the blow: Now by the neck, now by the gory sides Hangs fierce, and all his bellowing rage derides: In vain his eye-balls burn with living fire, In vain his nostrils clouds of smoke respire; His gorge torn down, down falls the furious prize With hollow thundering sound, and raging dies. Thus