To dazzle fierce Pelides’ sight,
Before him wave thy golden shield
Obliquely raised, that meteor of the field,
Vault from thy chariot with unrivalled might,
And brandish with each dexterous hand a lance;
Whoever strives with thee shall ne’er return
To Argive fanes, and join Saturnia’s dance,
He by the spear of Thrace in combat slain,
Shall lie a breathless corse on Troy’s exulting plain.
Hail, mighty chief! ye Thracian realms, the mien
Of him ye bore speaks his exalted rank.
Observe those nervous limbs with plated gold
Incased, and hearken to those tinkling chains
Which on his shield are hung. A god, O Troy,
E’en Mars himself, from Strymon’s current sprung,
And from the Muse, brings this auspicious gale.