Then had the Argives a short breathing-space From war, when they had penned the hosts of Troy In Priam's burg, as shepherds pen up lambs Upon a lonely steading. And, as when After hard strain, a breathing-space is given To oxen that, quick-panting 'neath the yoke, Up a steep hill have dragged a load, so breathed Awhile the Achaeans after toil in arms. Then once more hot for the fray did they beset The city-towers. But now with gates fast barred The Trojans from the walls withstood the assault. As when within their steading shepherd-folk Abide the lowering tempest, when a day Of storm hath dawned, with fury of lightnings, rain And heavy-drifting snow, and dare not haste Forth to the pasture, howsoever fain, Till the great storm abate, and rivers, wide With rushing floods, again be passable; So trembling on their walls they abode the rage Of foes against their ramparts surging fast. And as when daws or starlings drop in clouds Down on an orchard-close, full fain to feast Upon its pleasant fruits, and take no heed Of men that shout to scare them thence away, Until the reckless hunger be appeased That makes them bold; so poured round Priam's burg The furious Danaans. Against the gates They hurled themselves, they strove to batter down The mighty-souled Earth-shaker's work divine. Yet did tim Troyfolk not, despite their fear, Flinch from the fight: they manned their towers, they toiled Unresting: ever from the fair-built walls Leapt arrows, stones, and fleet-winged javelins down Amidst the thronging foes; for Phoebus thrilled Their souls with steadfast hardihood. Fain was he To save them still, though Hector was no more. Then Meriones shot forth a deadly shaft, And smote Phylodamas, Polites' friend, Beneath the jaw; the arrow pierced his throat. Down fell he like a vulture, from a rock By fowler's barbed arrow shot and slain; So from the high tower swiftly down he fell: His life fled; clanged his armour o'er the corpse. With laughter of triumph stalwart Molus' son A second arrow sped, with strong desire To smite Polites, ill-starred Priam's son: But with a swift side-swerve did he escape The death, nor did the arrow touch his flesh. As when a shipman, as his bark flies on O'er sea-gulfs, spies amid the rushing tide A rock, and to escape it swiftly puts The helm about, and turns aside the ship Even as he listeth, that a little strength Averts a great disaster; so did he Foresee and shun the deadly shaft of doom. Ever they fought on; walls, towers, battlements Were blood-besprent, wherever Trojans fell Slain by the arrows of the stalwart Greeks. Yet these escaped not scatheless; many of them Dyed the earth red: aye waxed the havoc of death As friends and foes were stricken. O'er the strife Shouted for glee Enyo, sister of War.