Book II - As on some mountain, through the lofty grove

As on some mountain, through the lofty grove,

The crackling flames ascend and blaze above,

The fires, expanding as the winds arise,

Shoot their long beams, and kindle half the skies,

So from the polished arms, and brazen shields,

A gleamy splendour flashed along the fields.

Not less their number than the embodied cranes,

Or milk-white swans in Asius' watery plains,

That, o'er the windings of Cäyster's springs,

Stretch their long necks, and clap their rustling wings;

Now tower aloft, and course in airy rounds;

Now light with noise; with noise the field resounds.

Thus numerous and confused, extending wide,

The legions crown Scamander's flowery side;

With rushing troops the plains are covered o'er,

And thundering footsteps shake the sounding shore;

Along the river's level meads they stand,

Thick as in spring the flowers adorn the land,

Or leaves the trees; or thick as insects play,

The wandering nation of a summer's day,

That, drawn by milky steams, at evening hours,

In gathered swarms surround the rural bowers;

From pail to pail with busy murmur run

The gilded legions, glittering in the sun.

So thronged, so close, the Grecian squadrons stood

In radiant arms, and thirst for Trojan blood.