Fierce as they are, by long successes vain; To force our fleet, or even a ship to gain, Asks toil, and sweat, and blood: their utmost might Shall find its match--No more: 'tis ours to fight." Then Teucer laid his faithless bow aside; The fourfold buckler o'er his shoulder tied; On his brave head a crested helm he placed, With nodding horse-hair formidably graced; A dart, whose point with br**** refulgent shines, The warrior wields; and his great brother joins. This Hector saw, and thus express'd his joy: "Ye troops of Lycia, Dard****, and Troy! Be mindful of yourselves, your ancient fame, And spread your glory with the navy's flame. Jove is with us; I saw his hand, but now, From the proud archer strike his vaunted bow: Indulgent Jove! how plain thy favours shine, When happy nations bear the marks divine! How easy then, to see the sinking state Of realms accursed, deserted, reprobate! Such is the fate of Greece, and such is ours: Behold, ye