Perseus begirt, from all around they pour Their lances on him, a tempestuous shower, Aim’d all at him; a cloud of darts and spears, Or blind his eyes, or whistle round his ears. Their numbers to resist, against the wall He guards his back secure, and dares them all. Here from the left Molpeus renews the fight, And bold Ethemon presses on the right: As when a hungry tiger near him hears Two lowing herds, a while he both forbears, Nor can his hopes of this or that renounce, So strong he lusts to prey on both at once: Thus Perseus now with that or this is loath To war distinct, but rain would fall on both: And first Chaonian Molpeus felt his blow, And fled, and never after faced his foe: Then fierce Ethemon, as he turn’d his back, Hurried with fury, aiming at his neck, His brandish’d sword against the marble struck With all his might; the brittle weapon broke, And in his throat the point rebounding stuck. Too slight the wound for life to issue thence, And yet too great for battle or defence: His arms extended, in this piteous state,

The crowds increasing, and his friends distress’d Himself by warring multitudes oppress’d; “Since thus unequally you fight, ’tis time,” He cried, “to punish your presumptuous crime: Beware, my friends:” his friends were soon prepar’d; Their sight averting, high the head he rear’d, And Gorgon on his foes severely stared. “Vain shift!” says Thescelus, with aspect bold, “Thee and thy bugbear monster I behold With scorn:” he lifts his arm, but ere he threw The dart, the hero to a statue grew. In the same posture still the marble stands, And holds the warrior’s weapons in its hands. Amphyx, whom yet this wonder can’t alarm, Heaves at Lyncides’ breast his impious arm; But, while thus daringly he presses on, His weapon and his arrn are turn’d to stone. Next Nileus, he who vainly said he owed His origin to Nile’s prolific flood; Who on his shield seven silver rivers bore, His birth to witness by the arms he wore; Full of his sevenfold father, thus express’d His boast to Perseus, and his pride confess’d: “See whence we sprung: let this thy comfort be,

For mercy he would sue, but sues too late; Perseus has in his bosom plunged the sword, And ere he speaks, the wound prevents the word.

In thy sure death, that thou did’st die by me.” While yet he spoke, the dying accents hung In sounds imperfect on his marble tongue: Though changed to stone, his lips he seem’d to stretch, And through the insensate rock would force a speech.

This Eryx saw, but seeing would not own: “The mischief by yourselves,” he cries, “is done; ’Tis your cold courage turns your hearts to stone: Come, follow me; fall on the stripling boy, Kill him, and you his magic arms destroy.” Then rushing on, his arm to strike he rear’d, And marbled o’er his varied frame appear’d.

These for affronting Pallas were chastised, And justly met the death they had despised; But brave Aconteus, Perseus’ friend, by chance Look’d back, and met the Gorgon’s fatal glance; A statue now become, he ghastly stares, And still the foe to mortal combat dares. Astyages the living likeness knew, On the dead stone with vengeful fury flew; But impotent his rage; the jarring blade No print upon the solid marble made: Again, as with redoubled might he struck, Himself astonish’d in the quarry stuck.