Struck with amaze and shame, the Trojan crew
Or slain, or fled, the sons of Dares view;
When by the blood-stain’d hand Minerva press’d
The God of Battles, and this speech address’d:
‘Stern Power of War! by whom the mighty fall,
Who bathe in blood, and shake the lofty wall!
Let the brave Chiefs their glorious toils divide;
And whose the conquest mighty Jove decide:
While we from interdicted fields retire,
Nor tempt the wrath of Heav’n’s avenging Sire.’
Her words allay th’ impetuous warrior’s heat,
The God of Arms and Martial Maid retreat;
Remov’d from fight, on Xanthus’ flowery bounds
They sat, and listen’d to the dying sounds.