NOW Myrina’s turrets o’er
And along the ocean shore
Sounds are heard of wailing cries,
Neighings shrill of war-steeds rise
When the tawny wolf his feet,
With Thessalian swiftness fleet,
Springing with impetuous leap,
Presses on their sandy steep;
Hidden fountains gushing round,
As he stamps the yielding ground.
234 Mars, in war-dance famed, hath stood
Blowing shrill the trump of blood.
All the earth, before mine eyes,
Drear and desolated lies:
Lances bristle, and in air
Iron harvests, waving, glare.
From the topmost tower I bend;
Shrieks the height of air ascend:
Groans are utter’d; garments torn;
Women o’er the slaughters mourn.
Woe my heart! to me, to me
That the heaviest blow will be;
That will gnaw my soul to see.
See the warlike eagle come,
Green of eye, and black of plume:
Screaming fierce he swooping springs,
Marks the dust with trailing wings;
Plougher of the furrow’d sand,
Sweeping circles track the land.
With a mix’d and horrid cry,
See, he snatches him on high!
Brother! to my soul endear’d —
Nursling, by Apollo rear’d!
Beak and talon keen deface
All his body’s blooming grace
Slaughter-dyed, his native wood
Reddens with the stain of blood.