the flood; The flood impell'd him, on Pelides' head To avenge his waters choked with heaps of dead. Near as they drew, Achilles thus began: "What art thou, boldest of the race of man? Who, or from whence? Unhappy is the sire Whose son encounters our resistless ire." "O son of Peleus! what avails to trace (Replied the warrior) our illustrious race? From rich Paeonia's valleys I command, Arm'd with protended spears, my native band; Now shines the tenth bright morning since I came In aid of Ilion to the fields of fame: Axius, who swells with all the neighbouring rills, And wide around the floated region fills, Begot my sire, whose spear much glory won: Now lift thy arm, and try that hero's son!" Threatening he said: the hostile chiefs advance; At once Asteropeus discharged each lance, (For both his dexterous hands the lance could wield,) One struck, but pierced not, the Vulcanian shield; One razed Achilles' hand; the spouting blood Spun fort