Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/362

186 Crowd thro' their Gates, and in the Fields of Light, The shocking Squadrons meet in mortal Fight: Headlong they fall from high, and wounded wound, And heaps of slaughter'd Soldiers bite the Ground. Hard Hailstones lye not thicker on the Plain; Nor shaken Oaks such Show'rs of Acorns rain. With gorgeous Wings the Marks of Sov'raign sway, The two contending Princes make their way; Intrepid thro' the midst of danger go; Their Friends encourage, and amaze the Foe. With mighty Souls in narrow Bodies prest, They challenge, and encounter Breast to Breast; So fix'd on Fame, unknowing how to fly, And obstinately bent to win or dye; That long the doubtful Combat they maintain, Till one prevails (for one can only Reign.) Yet all those dreadful deeds, this deadly fray, A cast of scatter'd Dust will soon alay; And undecided leave the Fortune of the day. When both the Chiefs are sund'red from the Fight, Then to the lawful King restore his Right. And let the wastful Prodigal be slain, That he, who best deserves, alone may reign. With ease distinguish'd is the Regal Race, One Monarch wears an honest open Face; Shap'd to his Size,, and Godlike to behold, His Royal Body shines with specks of Gold,