sword.
Stung with the shame, within the winding way,
To bar his passage fifty warriors lay;
Two heroes led the secret squadron on,
Mason the fierce, and hardy Lycophon;
Those fifty slaughter’d in the gloomy vale.
He spared but one to bear the dreadful tale,
Such Tydeus was, and such his martial fire;
Gods! how the son degenerates from the sire!”
No words the godlike Diomed return’d,
But heard respectful, and in secret burn’d:
Not so fierce Capaneus’ undaunted son;
Stern as his sire, the boaster thus begun:
“What needs, O monarch! this invidious praise,
Ourselves to lessen, while our sire you raise?
Dare to be just, Atrides! and confess
Our value equal, though our fury less.
With fewer troops we storm’d the Theban wall,
And happier saw the sevenfold city fall,
In impious acts the guilty father died;
The sons subdued, for Heaven was on their side.
Far more than heirs of all our parents’ fame,
Our glories darken their diminish’d name.”
To him Tydides thus: “My friend, forbear;
Suppress thy passion, and the king revere:
His high concern may well excuse this rage,
Whose cause we follow, and whose war we wage:
His the first praise, were Ilion’s towers o’erthrown,
And, if we fail, the chief disgrace his own.
Let him the Greeks to hardy toils excite,
’Tis ours to labour in the glorious fight.”
He spoke, and ardent, on the trembling ground
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