She spake, and Vulcan at her word sent forth His fierce, devouring flames. Upon the plain They first were kindled, and consumed the dead That strewed it, where Achilles struck them down. The ground was dried; the glimmering flood was stayed. As when the autumnal north-wind, breathing A newly watered garden, quickly dries The clammy mould, and makes the tiller glad, So did the spacious plain grow dry on which The dead were turned to ashes. Then the god Seized on the river with his glittering fires. The elms, the willows, and the tamarisks Fell, scorched to cinders, and the lotus-herbs, Rushes, and reeds that richly fringed the banks Of that fair-flowing current were consumed. The eels and fishes, that were wont to glide Hither and thither through the pleasant depths And eddies, languished in the fiery breath Of Vulcan, mighty artisan. The strength Of the great River withered, and he spake:⁠—