From thence a rustling noise, increasing, flies, Strikes the still shore, and frights us with surprise; Straight a huge wolf rush’d from the marshy wood, His jaws besmear’d with mingled foam and blood, Though equally by hunger urged, and rage, His appetite he minds not to assuage; Naught that he meets his rapid fury spares, But the whole herd with mad disorder tears. Some of our men, who strove to drive him thence, Torn by his teeth, have died in their defence; The echoing lakes, the sea, and fields, and shore, Impurpled blush with streams of reeking gore: Delay is loss, nor have we time for thought, While yet some few remain alive, we ought To seize our arms, and, with confederate force, Try if we so can stop his bloody course.” But Peleus cared not for his ruin’d herd, His crime he call’d to mind, and thence inferr’d That Psamathe’s revenge this havoc made, In sacrifice to murder’d Phocus’ shade. The king commands his servants to their arms, Resolved to go, but the loud noise alarms His lovely queen, who from her chamber flew, And her half-platted hair behind her threw,