Achilles' son with his resistless lance Smote godlike Pammon; then his javelin pierced Polites in mid-rush: Antiphonus Dead upon these he laid, all Priam's sons. Agenor faced him in the fight, and fell: Hero on hero slew he; everywhere Stalked at his side Death's black doom manifest: Clad in his sire's might, whomso he met he slew. Last, on Troy's king in murderous mood he came. By Zeus the Hearth-lord's altar. Seeing him, Old Priam knew him and quaked not; for he longed Himself to lay his life down midst his sons; And craving death to Achilles' seed he spake: "Fierce-hearted son of Achilles strong in war, Slay me, and pity not my misery. I have no will to see the sun's light more, Who have suffered woes so many and so dread. With my sons would I die, and so forget Anguish and horror of war. Oh that thy sire Had slain me, ere mine eyes beheld aflame Illium, had slain me when I brought to him Ransom for Hector, whom thy father slew. He spared me--so the Fates had spun my thread Of destiny. But thou, glut with my blood Thy fierce heart, and let me forget my pain." Answered Achilles' battle-eager son: "Fain am I, yea, in haste to grant thy prayer. A foe like thee will I not leave alive; For naught is dearer unto men than life." With one stroke swept he off that hoary head Lightly as when a reaper lops an ear In a parched cornfield at the harvest-tide. With lips yet murmuring low it rolled afar From where with quivering limbs the body lay Amidst dark-purple blood and slaughtered men. So lay he, chiefest once of all the world In lineage, wealth, in many and goodly sons. Ah me, not long abides the honour of man, But shame from unseen ambush leaps on him So clutched him Doom, so he forgat his woes.