There stormed the wild rout of the Centaurs round The hall of Pholus: goaded on by Strife And wine, with Hercules the monsters fought. Amidst the pine-trunks stricken to death they lay Still grasping those strange weapons in dead hands, While some with stems long-shafted still fought on In fury, and refrained not from the strife; And all their heads, gashed in the pitiless fight, Were drenched with gore--the whole scene seemed to live-- With blood the wine was mingled: meats and bowls And tables in one ruin shattered lay. There by Evenus' torrent, in fierce wrath For his sweet bride, he laid with the arrow low Nessus in mid-flight. There withal was wrought Antaeus' brawny strength, who challenged him To wrestling-strife; he in those sinewy arms Raised high above the earth, was crushed to death. There where swift Hellespont meets the outer sea, Lay the sea-monster slain by his ruthless shafts, While from Hesione he rent her chains. Of bold Alcides many a deed beside Shone on the broad shield of Eurypylus. He seemed the War-god, as from rank to rank He sped; rejoiced the Trojans following him, Seeing his arms, and him clothed with the might Of Gods; and Paris hailed him to the fray: "Glad am I for thy coming, for mine heart Trusts that the Argives all shall wretchedly Be with their ships destroyed; for such a man Mid Greeks or Trojans never have I seen. Now, by the strength and fury of Hercules-- To whom in stature, might, and goodlihead Most like thou art I pray thee, have in mind Him, and resolve to match his deeds with thine. Be the strong shield of Trojans hard-bestead: Win us a breathing-space. Thou only, I trow, From perishing Troy canst thrust the dark doom back." With kindling words he spake. That hero cried: "Great-hearted Paris, like the Blessed Ones In goodlihead, this lieth foreordained On the Gods' knees, who in the fight shall fall, And who outlive it. I, as honour bids, And as my strength sufficeth, will not flinch From Troy's defence. I swear to turn from fight Never, except in victory or death."