To earth, and left the sumptuous car, nor dared
To guard the slain, yet would have met his death
If Vulcan had not borne him swiftly thence
Concealed in darkness, that he might not leave
The aged man, his father, desolate.
The son of Tydeus took the steeds, and bade
His comrades lead them to the fleet. Aghast
The valiant sons of Troy beheld the sons
Of Dares, one in flight, the other slain.
Meantime the blue-eyed Pallas took the hand
Of Mars, and thus addressed the fiery god:—
“Mars, Mars, thou slayer of men, thou steeped in blood,
Destroyer of walled cities! Should we not
Leave both the Greeks and Trojans to contend,
And Jove to crown with glory whom he will,
While we retire, lest we provoke his wrath?”
Thus having said, she led the violent Mars
From where the battle raged, and made him sit
Beside Scamander, on its grassy bank.
And then the Achaians put the sons of Troy
To flight: each leader slew a foe; and first
The king of men, Atrides, from his car
Struck down the huge-limbed Hodius, who was chief
Among the Halizonians. As he turned
To flee, the Achaian, smiting him between
The shoulders, drove the javelin through his breast.
Heavily clashed his armor as he fell.
Then by Idomeneus was Phaestus slain,
Son of Meonian Borus, who had come
From Tarna, rich in harvests. As he sprang
Into his car, Idomeneus, expert
To wield the ponderous javelin, thrust its blade
Through his right shoulder. From the car he fell,
And the dark night of death came over him.
The Achaian warriors following spoiled the slain.
The son of Atreus, Menelaus, slew
With his sharp spear Scamandrius, the son
Of Strophius, practised in the forest chase,
A mighty hunter. Him had Dian taught
To strike whatever beast the woody wild
Breeds on the hills; but now availed him not
The favor of Diana, archer-queen,
Nor skill to throw the javelin afar;
For Menelaus, mighty with the spear,
Followed him as he fled, and in the back
Smote him, between the shoulder-blades, and drave
The weapon through. He fell upon the ground
Headlong, his armor clashing as he fell.
And then Meriones slew Phereclus,
Son of Harmonius, the artificer,
Who knew to shape all works of rare device,
For Pallas loved him. It was he who built
The fleet for Paris—cause of many woes
To all the Trojans and to him—for ill
He understood the oracles of heaven.
Him did Meriones, pursuing long,
O’ertake, and, smiting him on the right hip,
Pierced through the part beneath the bone and near
The bladder. On his knees with sad lament so
He fell, and death involved him in its shade.
And then by Meges was Pedseus slain,
Antenor’s base-born son, whose noble wife,
Theano, reared him with as fond a care
As her own children, for her husband’s sake.
And now the mighty spearman, Phyleus’ son,
Drew near and smote him with his trenchant lance
Where meet the head and spine, and pierced the neck
Beneath the tongue; and forth the weapon came
Between the teeth. He fell, and in the fall
Gnashed with his teeth upon the cold bright blade.
Then did Evaemon’s son Eurypylus
Strike down Hypsenor, nobly born, the son
Of great Dolopion, Scamander’s priest,
Whom all the people honored as a god.
Evaemon’s gallant son, o’ertaking him
In flight; with one stroke of his falchion hewed
His brawny arm away. The bloody limb
Dropped to the ground, and the dark night of death
Came o’er his eyes: so cruel fate decreed.
Thus toiled the heroes in that stubborn fight.
Nor would you now have known to which array—
Trojan or Greek—Tydides might belong;
For through the field he rushed with furious speed,
Like a swollen river when its current takes
The torrent’s swiftness, scattering with a sweep
The bridges; nor can massive dikes withstand
Its fury, nor embankments raised to screen
The grassy meadows, while the rains of Jove
Fall heavily, and harvests, late the joy
Of toiling youth, are beaten to the ground.
Thus by Tydides the close phalanxes
Of Troy were scattered, nor could they endure,
All numerous as they were, his strong assault.
As Pandarus, Lycaon’s eminent son,
Beheld Tydides rush athwart the field,
Breaking the ranks, he drew his crooked bow
And smote the chief’s left shoulder as he came,
Striking the hollow corselet. The sharp point
Broke through, and blood came gushing o’er the mail.
Then called aloud Lycaon’s eminent son:—
“Brave Trojans, great in mastery of steeds,
Press on; the bravest of the Grecian host
Is smitten, nor, I think, can long survive
The grievous wound, if it be true that I,
At the command of Phoebus, son of Jove,
Have left my home upon the Lycian shore.”
Thus boastfully he spake; but his swift shaft
Slew not Tydides, who had now withdrawn.
And, standing by his steeds and chariot, spake
To Sthenelus, the son of Capaneus:—
“Haste down, kind Sthenelus, and with thy hand
Draw the sharp arrow from my shoulder here.”
He spake, and Sthenelus at once leaped down,
Stood by his side, and from his shoulder drew
The wingèd arrow deeply fixed within.
The blood flowed forth upon the twisted rings
Of mail, while Diomed, the valiant, prayed:—
“Hear me, O child of aegis-bearing Jove,
Goddess invincible! If ever thou
Didst aid me or my father in the heat
Of battle, aid me, Pallas, yet again.
Give me to slay this Trojan; bring him near,
Within my javelin’s reach, who wounded me,
And now proclaims—the boaster—that not long
Shall I behold the brightness of the sun.”
So prayed he, and Minerva heard his prayer
And lightened all his limbs—his feet, his hands—
And, standing near him, spake these wingèd words:—
“War boldly with the Trojans, Diomed;
For even now I breathe into thy frame
The ancestral might and fearless soul that dwelt
In Tydeus, peerless with the steed and shield.
Lo! I remove the darkness from thine eyes,
That thou mayst well discern the gods from men;
And if a god should tempt thee to the fight,
Beware to combat with the immortal race;
Only, should Venus, child of Jupiter,
Take part in battle, wound her with thy spear.”
The blue-eyed Pallas spake, and disappeared;
And Diomed went back into the field
And mingled with the warriors. If before
His spirit moved him fiercely to engage
The men of Troy, a threefold courage now
Inspired him. As a lion who has leaped
Into a fold—and he who guards the flock
Has wounded but not slain him—feels his rage
Waked by the blow;—the affrighted shepherd then
Ventures not near, but hides within the stalls,
And the forsaken sheep are put to flight,
And, huddling, slain in heaps, till o’er the fence
The savage bounds into the
