Poem: Clash In Arms Of The Achaians And Trojans

Not the sea-wave so bellows abroad when it bursts upon shingle,

Whipped from the sea's deeps up by the terrible blast of the Northwind;

Nay, nor is ever the roar of the fierce fire's rush so arousing,

Down along mountain-glades, when it surges to kindle a woodland;

Nay, nor so tonant thunders the stress of the gale in the oak-trees’

Foliage-tresses high, when it rages to raveing its utmost;

As rose then stupendous the Trojan's cry and Achaians’,

Dread upshouting as one when together they clashed in the conflict.