Then godlike Diomed preferr’d his prayer: “Daughter of Jove, unconquer’d Pallas! hear. Great queen of arms, whose favour Tydeus won, As thou defend’st the sire, defend the son. When on Æsopus’ banks the banded powers Of Greece he left, and sought the Theban towers, Peace was his charge; received with peaceful show, He went a legate, but return’d a foe: Then help’d by thee, and cover’d by thy shield, He fought with numbers, and made numbers yield. So now be present, O celestial maid! So still continue to the race thine aid! A youthful steer shall fall beneath the stroke, Untamed, unconscious of the galling yoke, With ample forehead, and with spreading horns, Whose taper tops refulgent gold adorns.” The heroes pray’d, and Pallas from the skies Accords their vow, succeeds their enterprise. Now, like two lions panting for the prey, With dreadful thoughts they trace the dreary way, Through the black horrors of the ensanguined plain, Through dust, through blood, o’er arms, and hills of slain.