Old Falchions are new-temper'd in the Fires;
The founding Trumpet ev'ry Soul inspires.
The Word is given, with eager Haste they lace
The shining Head-piece, and the Shield embrace.
The neighing Steeds are to the Chariot ty'd,
The trusty Weapon sits on ev'ry Side.
As Legions in the Field their Front display,
To try the Fortune of some doubtful Day;
And move to meet their Foes with sober Pace,
Stri& to their Figure, tho' in wider Space,
Before the Battle joyns, while from afar,
The Field yet glitters with the Pomp of War,
And equal Mars, like an impartial Lord,
Leaves all to Fortune and the Dint of Sword.
An iron Harvest on the Field appears,
Of Lances, burnish'd Shields, and bristling Spears :
Throng'd Helms in long embattel'd Ranks dispos'd,
The louring Front of horrid War disclos'd.
The neighb'ring Plain with Arms is cover'd o'er,
The Vale an iron Harvest seems to yield
Of thick-sprung Lances in a waving Field,
The polish'd Steel gleems terribly from far;
And ev'ry Moment nearer shews the War.
The various Glories of their Arms combine,
And in one fearful dazling Medley joyn.
The Air above, and all the Fields beneath
Shine with a bright Variety of Death.
The Sun starts back to fee the Fields display
Their rival Lustre, and terrestrial Day.
Äre bright with flaming Swords and brazen Shields;
A shining Harvest either Host displays,
And shoots against the Sun with equal Rays.
A Forest huge of Spears; and thronging Helms
Appear'd, and ferry'd Shields in thick Array,
Of Depth immeasurable; strait out flew.
Millions of flaming Swords; the suddain Blaze
Far round illumin'd Hell. They fierce with grasped Arms
Clash'd on their founding Shields the Din of War,
Hurling Defiance tow'rds the Vault of Heav'n.
When creeping Murmur, and the poring Dark
Fill the wide Vessel of the Universe:
From Camp to Camp, through the foul Womb of Night,
The Hum of either Army stilly sounds.
Fire answers Fire, and through their paly Flames
Each Battel sees the other's umber'd Face.
Steed threatens Steed in high and boastful Neighs,
Piercing the Nights dull Ear; and from the Tents
The Armourers accomplishing the Knights,
With busy Hammers closing Rivets up,
Give dreadful Note of Preparation.
Now scarce the dawning Day began to spring;
When confus'd and high, Ev'n from the Heav'n was heard a shouting Cry, For Mars was early up, and rous'd the Sky. The Gods came downward to behold the Wars, Sharpning their Sights, and leaning from their Stars: The Neighing of the gen'rous Horse was heard, For Battel by the busy Groom prepar'd. Rustling of Harness, Rattling of the Shield, Clatt'ring of Armour furbish'd for the Field: The greedy Sight might there devour the Gold Of glitt'ring Arms, too dazling to behold; And polish'd Steel that cast the View aside, And crested Motions with their plumy Pride. Knights, with a long Retinue of their Squires In gawdy Liv'ries, march and quaint Attires: One lac'd the Helm, another held the Lance, A third the shining Buckler did advance : The Courser paw'd the Ground with restless Feet, And snorting foam'd and champ'd the golden Bit. The Smiths and Armourers on Palfreys ride, Files in their Hands, and Hammers at their Side; (vide. And Nails for loosen'd Spears, and Thongs for Shields pro
Peace leaves the violated Fields, and Hate
Both Armies urges to their mutual Fate.
The gloomy Throngs look terrible from far,
Disclosing flow the horrid Face of War.
The thick Battalions move in dreadful Form,
As lowring Clouds advance before a Storm.
A Cloud of blinding Dust is rais'd around ; Labours beneath their Feet the trembling Ground. Dryd. Virg.
Advancing in a Line they couch their Spears,
And less and less the middle Space appears.
Thick Smoke obscures the Field, and scarce are seen
The neighing Coursers, and the shouting Men.
In distance of their Darts they stop their Course,
Then Man to Man they rush, and Horse to Horse :
The Face of Heav'n the flying Jav'lins hide,
And Deaths unseen are dealt on either Side.
Thick Storms of Steel from either Army fly, And Clouds of clashing Darts obscure the Sky.
Thus equal Deaths are dealt with equal Chance,
By Turns they quit their Ground, by Turns advance;
Vitors and Vanquish'd in the various Field,
Not wholly overcome, nor wholly yield:
The Gods from Heav'n survey the fatal Strife,
And mourn the Miseries of human Life.
Now bearded Darts, and fatal Jav'lins fly,
And Balls of Fire hiss through th'enlighten'd Sky.
Each on his Foe missive Destruction pours,
And Death receives and gives in feather'd Show'rs.
To the rude Shock of War both Armies came,
Their Leaders equal and their Strength the same :
With Spears afar, with Swords at Hand they strike;
And Zeal of Slaughter fires their Souls alike.
The Soldiers dauntless thus maintain the Field,
And Hearts are pierc'd, unknowing how to yield :
They Blow for Blow return, and Wound for Wound;
And Heaps of Bodies raise the level Ground.
And now both Hosts their broken Troops unite,
In equal Ranks, and mix in mortal Fight.
They strike, they push, they throng the scanty Space,
Resolv'd on Death, impatient of Disgrace;
And where one falls, another fills his Place.
An undiftinguish'd Noise ascends the Sky,
The Fight grows hot, the whole War's now at work,
The Shouts of those who kill, and Groans of those who die.
And the goar'd Battel bleeds in ev'ry Vein.
When Greeks joyn'd Greeks, then was the Tug of War; The labour'd Battel swet, and Conquest bled.
Now dying Groans are heard, the Fields are strew'd
With fallen Bodies, and are drunk with Blood.
Arms, Horses, Men, on Heaps together lie:
Confus'd the Fight, and more confus'd the Cry.
The Sands with streaming Blood are sanguin dy'd,
And Death with Honour fought on ev'ry Side.
What Noife of Arms, what Shouts the Air confound!
What Ruin, what flain Heaps deform the Ground ?
The Dead make Bulwarks, which the Living climb,
That in the Air rife, like our Walls, fublime.
Dead Corps imboss the Vale with little Hills.
His finoaking Horses at their utmost Speed
He lashes on, and urges o'er the Dead :
Their Fetlocks run with Blood, and when they bound,
The Gore and gathering Dust are dash'd around.
The Rear so press'd the Front, they could not wield
The angry Weapons to dispute the Field.
They Darts with Clamour at a distance drive,
And only keep the languish'd War alive.
The frighted Soldiers when their Captains fly,
More on their Speed than on their Strength rely.
Confus'd in Fight they bear each other down,
And spur their Horses headlong to the Town;
Driv'n by their Foes, and to their Fears resign'd,
Not once they turn, but take their Wounds behind.
These drop the Shield, and those the Lance forego,
Or on their Shoulders bear the slacken'd Bow :
The Hoofs of Horses, with a rattling Sound,
Beat thick and short, and shake the solid Ground.
Black Clouds of Dust come rouling in the Sky,
And o'er the darken'd Walls and Rampiers fly.
All pressing on, Purfuers and Pursu'd
Are crush'd in Crowds, a mingled Multitude,
Some happy few escap'd: The Throng too late
Rush on for Entrance, till they choak the Gate.
Then in Affright the folding Gates they close,
But leave their Friends excluded with their Foes.
The Vanquish'd cry, the Victors loudly shout,
'Tis Terrour all within, and Slaughter all without.
Blind in their Fear, they bound against the Wall;
Or to the Moats pursu'd precipitate their Fall.
Then planting at the Walls a scaling Ladder,
I mounted spight of Show'rs of Stones, Bars, Arrows,
And all the Lumber which they thunder'd down.
I left the Walls to fly among my Foes,
And, like a baited Lyon, dy'd my felf
All over with the Blood of those bold Hunters;
Till spent with Toil, I battel'd on my Knees,
Pluck'd forth the Darts that made my Shield a Forest,
And hurl'd them back with most unconquer'd Fury. Lee Alex,
Now Peals of Shouts came thund'ring from afar,
Cries, Threats, and loud Laments, and mingled War:
Louder, and yet more loud, we hear th'Alarms
Of human Cries diftinet, and clashing Arms:
New Clamours and new Clangours now arife,
The Sound of Trumpets mix'd with fighting Cries.
The Fire confumes the Town, the Foe commands;
And armed Hosts, an unexperienc'd Force,
Break in, and Foes for Entrance press without.
To sev'ral Posts their Parties they divide;
Some block the narrow Streets, some scour the wide:
The Bold they kill, th'Unwary they surprize;
Who fights finds Death, and Death finds him who flies.
The Warders of the Gate but scarce maintain
Th'unequal Combat, and resist in vain.
We heard: And Heav'n, that well-born Souls inspires,
Prompts us thro' lifted Swords and rifing Fires.
To run, where clashing Arms and Clamour calls,
And rush undaunted to defend the Walls.
The paffive Gods behold the Greeks defile
Their Temples, and abandon to the Spoil
Their own Abodes; we, feeble few, conspire
To save a finking Town involv'd in Fire.
We leave the narrow Lanes behind, and dare
Th'unequal Combat in the publick Square;
Night was our Friend, our Leader was Despair.
What Tongue can tell the Slaughter of that Night ?
What Eyes can weep the Sorrows and Affright ?
An antient and imperial City falls
The Streets are fill'd with frequent Funerals:
Houses and holy Temples float in Blood,
And hoftile Nations make a common Flood.
Not only Trojans fall, but in their Turn,
The Vanquish'd triumph, and the Victors mourn.
Ours take new Courage from Despair and Night,
Confus'd the Fortune is, confus'd the Fight;
All Parts resound with Tumults, Plaints, and Fears,
And griefly Death in sundry Shapes appears :
New Clamours from th'invested Palace ring;
So hot th'Assault, so high the Tumult rose,
While ours defend, and while the Greeks oppose,
As if all Ilium else were void of Fear,
And Tumult, War, and Slaughter only there.
Their Targets in a Tortoise caft, our Foes
Secure advancing, to the Turrets rose :
Some mount the scaling Ladders, some more bold
Swerve upwards, and by Posts and Pillars hold :
Their left Hand gripes their Bucklers in th'Ascent,
While with the right they fieze the Battlement.
From their demolish'd Tow'rs the Trojans throw
Huge Heaps of Stones, that falling, crush the Foe,
And heavy Beams and Rafters, from the Sides,
And gilded Roofs come tumbling from on high,
The Marks of State and antient Royalty.
The Lightning flies not swifter than the Fall,
Nor Thunder louder than the ruin'd Wall.
Down goes the Top at once; the Greeks beneath
Are piecemeal torn, or pounded into Death.
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