As well-rigg’d galleys, which slaves, sweating, row, With their sharp beaks the whiten’d ocean plough; So, when the monster moved, still at his back The furrow’d waters left a foamy track. Now to the rock he was advanced so nigh, Whirl’d from a sling, a stone the space would fly. Then, bounding upwards, the brave Perseus sprung, And in mid air on hovering pinions hung. His shadow quickly floated on the main; The monster could not his wild rage restrain, But at the floating shadow leap’d in vain. As when Jove’s bird a speckled serpent spies, Which in the shine of Phoebus basking lies, Unseen, he souses down, and bears away, Truss’d from behind, the vainly hissing prey. To writhe his neck the labour naught avails, Too deep the imperial talons pierce his scales. Thus the wing’d hero now descends, now soars, And at his pleasure the vast monster gores. Full in his back, swift stooping from above, The crooked sabre to its hilt he drove. The monster raged, impatient of the pain, First bounded high, and then sunk low again. Now, like a savage boar, when chafed with wounds,