With clashing arms, and groanings of the slain,
They grieve unpitied, and unheard complain.
The floor with ruddy streams Bellona stains;
And Phineus a new war with double rage maintains.
Perseus begirt, from all around they pour
Their lances on him, a tempestuous shower,
Aim’d all at him; a cloud of darts and spears,
Or blind his eyes, or whistle round his ears.
Their numbers to resist, against the wall
He guards his back secure, and dares them all.
Here from the left Molpeus renews the fight,
And bold Ethemon presses on the right:
As when a hungry tiger near him hears
Two lowing herds, a while he both forbears,
Nor can his hopes of this or that renounce,
So strong he lusts to prey on both at once:
Thus Perseus now with that or this is loath
To war distinct, but rain would fall on both:
And first Chaonian Molpeus felt his blow,
And fled, and never after faced his foe:
Then fierce Ethemon, as he turn’d his back,
Hurried with fury, aiming at his neck,
His brandish’d sword against the marble struck
With all his might; the brittle weapon broke,
And in his throat the point rebounding stuck.
Too slight the wound for life to issue thence,
And yet too great for battle or defence:
His arms extended, in this piteous state,
For mercy he would sue, but sues too late;
Perseus has in his bosom plunged the sword,
And ere he speaks, the wound prevents the word.
The crowds increasing, and his friends distress’d
Himself by warring multitudes oppress’d;
“Since thus unequally you fight, ’tis time,”
He cried, “to punish your presumptuous crime:
Beware, my friends:” his friends were soon prepar’d;
Their sight averting, high the head he rear’d,
And Gorgon on his foes severely stared.
“Vain shift!” says Thescelus, with aspect bold,
“Thee and thy bugbear monster I behold
With scorn:” he lifts his arm, but ere he threw
The dart, the hero to a statue grew.
In the same posture still the marble stands,
And holds the warrior’s weapons in its hands.
Amphyx, whom yet this wonder can’t alarm,
Heaves at Lyncides’ breast his impious arm;
But, while thus daringly he presses on,
His weapon and his arrn are turn’d to stone.
Next Nileus, he who vainly said he owed
His origin to Nile’s prolific flood;
Who on his shield seven silver rivers bore,
His birth to witness by the arms he wore;
Full of his sevenfold father, thus express’d
His boast to Perseus, and his pride confess’d:
“See whence we sprung: let this thy comfort be,
In thy sure death, that thou did’st die by me.”
While yet he spoke, the dying accents hung
In sounds imperfect on his marble tongue:
Though changed to stone, his lips he seem’d to stretch,
And through the insensate rock would force a speech.
This Eryx saw, but seeing would not own:
“The mischief by yourselves,” he cries, “is done;
’Tis your cold courage turns your hearts to stone:
Come, follow me; fall on the stripling boy,
Kill him, and you his magic arms destroy.”
Then rushing on, his arm to strike he rear’d,
And marbled o’er his varied frame appear’d.
These for affronting Pallas were chastised,
And justly met the death they had despised;
But brave Aconteus, Perseus’ friend, by chance
Look’d back, and met the Gorgon’s fatal glance;
A statue now become, he ghastly stares,
And still the foe to mortal combat dares.
Astyages the living likeness knew,
On the dead stone with vengeful fury flew;
But impotent his rage; the jarring blade
No print upon the solid marble made:
Again, as with redoubled might he struck,
Himself astonish’d in the quarry stuck.
The vulgar deaths ’twere tedious to rehearse,
And fates below the dignity of verse:
Their safety in their flight two hundred found;
Two hundred by Medusa’s head were stoned.
Fierce Phineus now repents the wrongful fight,
And views his varied friends; a dreadful sight;
He knows their faces, for their help he sues,
And thinks, not hearing him, that they refuse;
By name he begs their succour, one by one,
Then doubts their life, and feels the friendly stone.
Struck with remorse, and conscious of his pride,
Convict of sin, he turn’d his eyes aside;
With suppliant mien, to Perseus thus he prays:
“Hence with the head, as far as winds and seas
Can bear thee; hence; O quit the Cephen shore,
And never curse us with Medusa more;
That horrid head, which stiffens into stone
Those impious men, who, daring death, look on.
I warr’d not with thee out of hate or strife;
My honest cause was to defend my wife,
First pledged to me: what crime could I suppose,
To arm my friends, and vindicate my spouse?
But vain, too late, I see, was our design;
Mine was the title, but the merit thine.
Contending made me guilty, I confess;
But penitence should make that guilt the less:
’Twas thine to conquer by Minerva’s power;
Favour’d by heaven, thy mercy I implore;
For life I sue, the rest to thee I yield:
In pity from my sight remove the shield.”
He suing said, nor durst revert his eyes
On the grim head; and Perseus thus replies:
“Coward, what is in me to grant I will,
Nor blood, unworthy of my valour, spill;
Fear not to perish by my vengeful sword;
From that secure, ’tis all the Fates afford.
Where now I see thee, thou shalt still be seen,
A lasting monument, to please our queen;
There still shall thy betroth’d behold her spouse,
And find his image in her father’s house.”
This said, where Phineus turn’d to shun the shield,
Full in his face the staring head he held;
As here and there he strove to turn aside,
The wonder wrought; the man was petrified:
All marble was his frame, his humid eyes
Dropp’d tears, which hung upon the stone like ice;
In suppliant posture, with uplifted hands,
And fearful look, the guilty statue stands
Hence Perseus to his native city hies,
Victorious, and rewarded with his prize:
Conquest, o’er Praetus the usurper, won,
He reinstates his grandsire in the throne.
Praetus his brother dispossess’d by might,
His realm enjoy’d, and still detain’d his right:
But Perseus pull’d the haughty tyrant down,
And to the rightful king restored the throne;
Weak was the usurper, as his cause was wrong:
Where Gorgon’s head appears, what arms are strong?
When Perseus to his host the monster held,
They soon were statues, and their king expell’d.
Thence to Seriphus with the head he sails,
Whose prince his story treats as idle tales:
Lord of a little isle, he scorns to seem
Too credulous, but laughs at that and him;
Yet did he not so much suspect the truth,
As, out of pride or envy, hate the
