There saw the Trojans fly, the Greeks pursue; These proud in arms, those ****ter'd o'er the plain And, 'midst the war, the monarch of the main. Not far, great Hector on the dust he spies, (His sad ****ociates round with weeping eyes,) Ejecting blood, and panting yet for breath, His senses wandering to the verge of death. The god beheld him with a pitying look, And thus, incensed, to fraudful Juno spoke: "O thou, still adverse to the eternal will, For ever studious in promoting ill! Thy arts have made the godlike Hector yield, And driven his conquering squadrons from the field. Canst thou, unhappy in thy wiles, withstand Our power immense, and brave the almighty hand? Hast thou forgot, when, bound and fix'd on high, From the vast concave of the spangled sky, I hung thee trembling in a golden chain, And all the raging gods opposed in vain? Headlong I hurl'd them from the Olympian hall, Stunn'd in the whirl, and breathless with the fall. For go