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When breakfast was over, they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth began to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and solicitude they showed for Jane. The apothecary came; and having examined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it; advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head ached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment, nor were the other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had in fact nothing to do elsewhere.

Diomed, assisted by Pallas, performs wonders in this day’s battle. Pandarus wounds him with an arrow, but the goddess cures him, enables him to discern gods from mortals, and prohibits him from contending with any of the former, excepting Venus. Æneas joins Pandarus to oppose him; Pandarus is killed, and Æneas in great danger but for the assistance of Venus; who, as she is removing her son from the fight, is wounded on the hand by Diomed. Apollo seconds her in his rescue, and at length carries off Æneas to Troy, where he is healed in the temple of Pergamus. Mars rallies the Trojans, and assists Hector to make a stand. In the meantime Æneas is restored to the field, and they overthrow several of the Greeks; among the rest Tlepolemus is slain by Sarpedon. Juno and Minerva descend to resist Mars; the latter incites Diomed to go against that god; he wounds him, and sends him groaning to heaven. The first battle continues through this book. The scene is the same as in the former.

She spoke, and Helen’s secret soul was moved; She scorn’d the champion, but the man she loved. Fair Venus’ neck, her eyes that sparkled fire, And breast, reveal’d the queen of soft desire.[123] Struck with her presence, straight the lively red Forsook her cheek; and trembling, thus she said: “Then is it still thy pleasure to deceive? And woman’s frailty always to believe! Say, to new nations must I cross the main, Or carry wars to some soft Asian plain? For whom must Helen break her second vow? What other Paris is thy darling now? Left to Atrides, (victor in the strife,) An odious conquest and a captive wife, Hence let me sail; and if thy Paris bear My absence ill, let Venus ease his care. A handmaid goddess at his side to wait, Renounce the glories of thy heavenly state, Be fix’d for ever to the Trojan shore, His spouse, or slave; and mount the skies no more. For me, to lawless love no longer led, I scorn the coward, and detest his bed; Else should I merit everlasting shame, And keen reproach, from every Phrygian dame: Ill suits it now the joys of love to know, Too deep my anguish, and too wild my woe.”

Tydides thus. The goddess, seized with dread, Confused, distracted, from the conflict fled. To aid her, swift the winged Iris flew, Wrapt in a mist above the warring crew. The queen of love with faded charms she found. Pale was her cheek, and livid look’d the wound. To Mars, who sat remote, they bent their way: Far, on the left, with clouds involved he lay; Beside him stood his lance, distain’d with gore, And, rein’d with gold, his foaming steeds before. Low at his knee, she begg’d with streaming eyes Her brother’s car, to mount the distant skies, And show’d the wound by fierce Tydides given, A mortal man, who dares encounter heaven. Stern Mars attentive hears the queen complain, And to her hand commits the golden rein; She mounts the seat, oppress’d with silent woe, Driven by the goddess of the painted bow. The lash resounds, the rapid chariot flies, And in a moment scales the lofty skies: They stopp’d the car, and there the coursers stood, Fed by fair Iris with ambrosial food; Before her mother, love’s bright queen appears, O’erwhelmed with anguish, and dissolved in tears: She raised her in her arms, beheld her bleed, And ask’d what god had wrought this guilty deed?

Thus toil’d the chiefs, in different parts engaged. In every quarter fierce Tydides raged; Amid the Greek, amid the Trojan train, Rapt through the ranks he thunders o’er the plain; Now here, now there, he darts from place to place, Pours on the rear, or lightens in their face. Thus from high hills the torrents swift and strong Deluge whole fields, and sweep the trees along, Through ruin’d moles the rushing wave resounds, O’erwhelm’s the bridge, and bursts the lofty bounds; The yellow harvests of the ripen’d year, And flatted vineyards, one sad waste appear![144] While Jove descends in sluicy sheets of rain, And all the labours of mankind are vain.