shaped it for his sire; A spear which stern Achilles only wields, The death of heroes, and the dread of fields. Automedon and Alcimus prepare The immortal coursers, and the radiant car; (The silver traces sweeping at their side;) Their fiery mouths resplendent bridles tied; The ivory-studded reins, return'd behind, Waved o'er their backs, and to the chariot join'd. The charioteer then whirl'd the lash around, And swift ascended at one active bound. All bright in heavenly arms, above his squire Achilles mounts, and sets the field on fire; Not brighter Phoebus in the ethereal way Flames from his chariot, and restores the day. High o'er the host, all terrible he stands, And thunders to his steeds these dread commands: "Xanthus and Balius! of Podarges' strain, (Unless ye boast that heavenly race in vain,) Be swift, be mindful of the load ye bear, And learn to make your master more your care: Through falling squadrons bear my slaughtering sword, Nor, as ye left Patroclus, leave your lord." The generous Xanthus, as the words he said, Seem'd sensible of woe, and droop'd his head: Trembling he stood before the golden wain, And bow'd to dust the honours of his mane. When, strange to tell! (so Juno will'd) he broke Eternal silence, and portentous spoke. "Achilles! yes! this day at least we bear Thy rage in safety through the files of war: But come it will, the fatal time must come, Not ours the fault, but God decrees thy doom. Not through our crime, or slowness in the course, Fell thy Patroclus, but by heavenly force; The bright far-shooting god who gilds the day (Confess'd we saw him) tore his arms way. No--could our swiftness o'er the winds prevail, Or beat the pinions of the western gale, All were in vain--the Fates thy death demand, Due to a mortal and immortal hand." Then ceased for ever, by the Furies tied, His fateful voice. The intrepid chief replied With unabated rage--"So let