Thus with new ardour he the brave inspires; Or thus the fearful with reproaches fires: “Shame to your country, scandal of your kind; Born to the fate ye well deserve to find! Why stand ye gazing round the dreadful plain, Prepared for flight, but doom’d to fly in vain? Confused and panting thus, the hunted deer Falls as he flies, a victim to his fear. Still must ye wait the foes, and still retire, Till yon tall vessels blaze with Trojan fire? Or trust ye, Jove a valiant foe shall chase, To save a trembling, heartless, dastard race?”