And on his shoulders bears the wooden death: To heave the intolerable weight he tries; At length it rose above his mouth and eyes: Yet still he heaves; and struggling with despair, Shakes all aside, and gains a gulp of air: A short relief, which but prolongs his pain; He faints by fits; and then respires again. At last the burden only nods above, As when an earthquake stirs the Idaean grove: Doubtful his death: he suffocated seem’d To most; but otherwise our Nopsus deem’d; Who said he saw a yellow bird arise From out the piles, and cleave the liquid skies: I saw it too, with golden feathers bright, Nor ere before beheld so strange a sight: Whom Mopsus viewing, as it soar’d around Our troop, and heard the pinion’s rattling sound ‘All hail,’ he cried, ‘thy country’s grace and love! Once first of men below, now first of birds above.’ Its author to the story gave belief: For us, our courage was increased by grief: Ashamed to see a single man, pursued With odds, to sink beneath a multitude, We push’d the foe; and forced to shameful flight;