burns; Swift to his tent the Cretan king returns: From thence, two javelins glittering in his hand, And clad in arms that lighten'd all the strand, Fierce on the foe the impetuous hero drove, Like lightning bursting from the arm of Jove, Which to pale man the wrath of heaven declares, Or terrifies the offending world with wars; In streamy sparkles, kindling all the skies, From pole to pole the trail of glory flies: Thus his bright armour o'er the dazzled throng Gleam'd dreadful, as the monarch flash'd along. Him, near his tent, Meriones attends; Whom thus he questions: "Ever best of friends! O say, in every art of battle skill'd, What holds thy courage from so brave a field? On some important message art thou bound, Or bleeds my friend by some unhappy wound? Inglorious here, my soul abhors to stay, And glows with prospects of th' approaching day." "O prince! (Meriones replies) whose care Leads forth the embattled sons of Crete to war; This speaks my grief: this headless lance I wield; The rest lies rooted in a Trojan shield." To whom the Cretan: "Enter, and receive The wonted weapons; those my tent can give; Spears I have store, (and Trojan lances all,) That shed a lustre round the illumined wall, Though I, disdainful of the distant war, Nor trust the dart, nor aim the uncertain spear, Yet hand to hand I fight, and spoil the slain; And thence these trophies, and these arms I gain. Enter, and see on heaps the helmets roll'd, And high-hung spears, and shields that flame with gold." "Nor vain (said Merion) are our martial toils; We too can boast of no ignoble spoils: But those my ship contains; whence distant far, I fight conspicuous in the van of war, What need I more? If any Greek there be Who knows not Merion, I appeal to thee." To this, Idomeneus: "The fields of fight Have proved thy valour, and unconquer'd might: And were some ambush for the foes design'd, Even there thy co