Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 2.djvu/27

 
Oh, not to me, who well thy grandeur know,
But to the pagan herd thy wonders shew!

The Lusian host, enraptured, mark'd the sign
That witness'd to their chief the aid divine:
Right on the foe they shake the beamy lance,
And with firm strides, and heaving breasts, advance;
Then burst the silence, hail, O king, they cry;
Our king, our king, the echoing dales reply.
Fired at the sound, with fiercer ardour glows
The heaven-made monarch; on the wareless foes
Rushing, he speeds his ardent bands along:
So when the chase excites the rustic throng,
Roused to fierce madness by their mingled cries,
On the wild bull the red-eyed mastiff flies:
The stern-brow'd tyrant roars and tears the ground,
His watchful horns portend the deathful wound;
The nimble mastiff, springing on the foe,
Avoids the furious sharpness of the blow:
Now by the neck, now by the gory sides
Hangs fierce, and all his bellowing rage derides:
In vain his eye-balls burn with living fire,
In vain his nostrils clouds of smoke respire;
His gorge torn down, down falls the furious prize
With hollow thundering sound, and raging dies.

Thus