Above, the sire of gods his thunder rolls, And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles. Beneath, stern Neptune shakes the solid ground; The forests wave, the mountains nod around; Through all their summits tremble Ida’s woods, And from their sources boil her hundred floods. Troy’s turrets totter on the rocking plain, And the toss’d navies beat the heaving main. Deep in the dismal regions of the dead,[260] The infernal monarch rear’d his horrid head, Leap’d from his throne, lest Neptune’s arm should lay His dark dominions open to the day, And pour in light on Pluto’s drear abodes, Abhorr’d by men, and dreadful even to gods.[261]