Each warrior his auxiliar fiend inspires,
Directs his arm, and pours in all her fires:
Round the bright reins their snaky locks they twine,
And with each swelling mane their glittering folds combine.
The horns were hush'd: the drums no longer peal'd:
A death-like stillness brooded o'er the field:
And thrice hell's monarch rock'd the ground below,
And thrice his thunders shook the realms of woe.--
No martial power was there: the God of War
Whirl'd from the hated field his heavenly car:
Indignant Pallas sought th'ethereal climes:
And Furies learn'd to blush at human crimes.
The thronging people, from the stately crown }
Of each tall turret, look with horror down, }
And general grief overwhelms th' unhappy town: }
The old deplore their late remains of light;
And mothers lead their infants from the sight.
The ghosts of Cadmus' race, an impious crew,
This prodigy of kindred guilt to view,
Sent from the mansion of eternal hills,
(A dark assembly) crowd Bæotia's hills;
O'er day's fair face a gloomy twilight cast,
And smile with joy to see their crimes surpass'd.




FROM THE NINTH BOOK OF KLOPSTOCK'S MESSIAH.