to the sky: With mournful eyes they gaze, and gaze again; Loud howls the storm, and drives them o'er the main. Next, his high head the helmet graced; behind The sweepy crest hung floating in the wind: Like the red star, that from his flaming hair Shakes down diseases, pestilence, and war; So stream'd the golden honours from his head, Trembled the sparkling plumes, and the loose glories shed. The chief beholds himself with wondering eyes; His arms he poises, and his motions tries; Buoy'd by some inward force, he seems to swim, And feels a pinion lifting every limb. And now he shakes his great paternal spear, Ponderous and huge, which not a Greek could rear, From Pelion's cloudy top an ash entire Old Chiron fell'd, and 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,