LXXIX.

Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. He stops--he starts--disdaining to decline: Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries, Without a groan, without a struggle dies. The decorated car appears--on high The corse is piled--sweet sight for vulgar eyes--[de][94] Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by.