The heroes kindle at his fierce command; The martial squadrons close on either hand: Here Troy and Lycia charge with loud alarms, Thessalia there, and Greece, oppose their arms. With horrid shouts they circle round the slain; The clash of armour rings o’er all the plain. Great Jove, to swell the horrors of the fight, O’er the fierce armies pours pernicious night, And round his son confounds the warring hosts, His fate ennobling with a crowd of ghosts.