Faster still the darts they pour, And thundering Mnestheus towers amid his foes.
Trembling with pain, exhausted, sick, and sore, He gasps for breath.

Sweat streams from every pore, And, black with dust, from all his limbs descends.
Headlong, at length, he plunges from the shore, Clad all in arms.

The yellow river bends, And bears him, cleansed from blood, triumphant to his friends..