Classic Poem

The multitude in haste convened, uprose
Troxartes for his son incensed, and said,
Ah friends! although my damage from the Frogs
Sustain'd be greatest, yet is yours not small.
Three children I have lost, wretch that I am,
All sons. A merciless and hungry cat
Finding mine eldest son abroad, surprized
And slew him. Lured into a wooden snare,
(New machination of unfeeling man
For slaughter of our race, and named a trap)
My second died. And now, as ye have heard,
My third, his mother's and my darling, him
Physignathus hath drown'd in yon abyss.
Haste therefore, and in gallant armour bright
Attired, march forth, ye Mice, now seek the foe.
So saying, he roused them to the fight, and Mars
Attendant arm'd them. Splitting, first, the pods
Of beans which they had sever'd from the stalk
With hasty tooth by night, they made them greaves.
Their corslets were of platted straw, well lined
With spoils of an excoriated cat.
The lamp contributed its central tin,
A shield for each. The glitt'ring needle long
Arm'd ev'ry gripe with a terrific spear,
And auburn shells of nuts their brows inclosed.