Pallas her brother Perseus close attends, And with her ample shield from harm defends, Raising a sprightly courage in his heart: But Indian Athis took the weaker part: Born in the crystal grottoes of the sea, Limnate’s son, a fenny nymph, and she Daughter of Ganges: graceful was his mien, His person lovely, and his age sixteen: His habit made his native beauty more: A purple mantle fringed with gold he wore; His neck, well turn’d, with golden chains was graced; His hair, with myrrh perfumed, was nicely dress’d. Though with just aim he could the javelin throw, Yet with more skill he drew the bending bow; And now was drawing it with artful hand, When Perseus, snatching up a flaming brand, Whirl’d sudden at his face the burning wood, Crush’d his eyes in, and quench’d the fire with blood; Through the soft skin the splinter’d bones appear, And spoil’d the face that lately was so fair.

When Lycabas his Athis thus beheld, How was his heart with friendly horror fill’d! A youth so noble, to his soul so dear, To see his shapeless look, his dying groans to hear! He snatch’d the bow the boy was used to bend, And cried, “With me, false traitor, dare contend; Boast not a conquest o’er a child, but try Thy strength with me, who all thy powers defy, Nor think so mean an act a victory.” While yet he spoke he flung the whizzing dart, Which pierced the plaited robe, but miss’d his heart. Perseus defied, upon him fiercely press’d With sword unsheathed, and plunged it in his breast: His eyes o’erwhelm’d with night, he stumbling falls, And with his latest breath on Athis calls; Pleased that so near the lovely youth he lies, He sinks his head upon his friend, and dies.

Next eager Phorbas, old Methion’s son, Came rushing forward with Amphimedon, When the smooth pavement, slippery made with gore, Tripp’d up their feet, and flung them on the floor: The sword of Perseus, who by chance was nigh, Prevents their rise; and where they fall, they lie: Full in his ribs Amphimedon he smote, And then stuck fiery Phorbas in the throat. Eurythus lifting up his axe, the blow Was thus prevented by his nimble foe: A golden cup he seizes, high emboss’d, And at his head the massy goblet toss’d: It hits, and from his forehead bruised rebounds, And blood and brains he vomits from his wounds; With his slain fellows on the floor he lies, And death for ever shuts his swimming eyes. Then Polydaemon fell, a goddess born: Phlegias and Elycen, with locks unshorn, Next follow’d: next the stroke of death he gave To Clytus, Abanis, and Lycetus brave; While o’er unnumber’d heaps of ghastly dead The Argive hero’s feet triumphant tread.

But Phineus stands aloof, and dreads to feel His rival’s force, and flies his pointed steel; Yet threw a dart from far; by chance it lights On Idas, who for neither party fights: But wounded, sternly thus to Phineus said: “Since of a neuter thou a foe hast made, This I return thee,” drawing from his side The dart, which, as he strove to fling, he died. Odites fell by Clymenus’s sword; The Cephen court had not a greater lord. Hypseus his blade does in Protenor sheath; But brave Lyncides soon revenged his death. Here too was old Emathion, one that fear’d The gods, and in the cause of Heaven appear’d, Who, only wishing the success of right, And by his age exempted from the fight, Both sides alike condemns: “This impious war Cease, cease,” he cries; “these bloody broils forbear.” This scarce the sage, with high concern, had said, When Chromis, at a blow, struck off his head, Which, dropping, on the royal altar roll’d, Still staring on the crowd with aspect bold; And still it seem’d their horrid strife to blame; In life and death his pious zeal the same: