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.
Each leader now his scattered force conjoins
In close array, and forms the deepening lines. 60
Not with more ease the skilful shepherd swain
Collects his flocks from thousands on the plain.
The king of kings, majestically tall,
Towers o’er his armies, and outshines them all;
Like some proud bull, that round the pastures leads
His subject herds, the monarch of the meads,
Great as the gods, the exalted chief was seen,
His strength like Neptune, and like Mars his mien;
Jove o’er his eyes celestial glories spread,
And dawning conquest played around his head. 70
from the eighth book of the IliadA nightpiece
The troops exulting sat in order round,
And beaming fires illumined all the ground.
As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,
O’er heaven’s clear azure spreads her sacred light,
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o’ercasts the solemn scene,
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole,
O’er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver every mountain’s head: 10
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies:
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.
[270–8]