Then, as once more he plunged amid the flood, The young Lycaon in his passage stood; The son of Priam; whom the hero’s hand But late made captive in his father’s land (As from a sycamore, his sounding steel Lopp’d the green arms to spoke a chariot wheel) To Lemnos’ isle he sold the royal slave, Where Jason’s son the price demanded gave; But kind Eetion, touching on the shore, The ransom’d prince to fair Arisbe bore. Ten days were past, since in his father’s reign He felt the sweets of liberty again; The next, that god whom men in vain withstand Gives the same youth to the same conquering hand Now never to return! and doom’d to go A sadder journey to the shades below. His well-known face when great Achilles eyed, (The helm and visor he had cast aside With wild affright, and dropp’d upon the field His useless lance and unavailing shield,) As trembling, panting, from the stream he fled, And knock’d his faltering knees, the hero said: “Ye mighty gods! what wonders strike my view! Is it in vain our conquering arms subdue? Sure I shall see yon heaps of Trojans kill’d Rise from the shades, and brave me on the field; As now the captive, whom so late I bound And sold to Lemnos, stalks on Trojan ground! Not him the sea’s unmeasured deeps detain, That bar such numbers from their native plain; Lo! he returns. Try, then, my flying spear! Try, if the grave can hold the wanderer; If earth, at length this active prince can seize, Earth, whose strong grasp has held down Hercules.” Thus while he spoke, the Trojan pale with fears Approach’d, and sought his knees with suppliant tears Loth as he was to yield his youthful breath, And his soul shivering at the approach of death. Achilles raised the spear, prepared to wound; He kiss’d his feet, extended on the ground: And while, above, the spear suspended stood, Longing to dip its thirsty point in blood, One hand embraced them close, one stopp’d the dart, While thus these melting words attempt his heart: