Both on one car; but from their hands had dropp’d The broider’d reins; bewilder’d there they stood; While, with a lion’s bound, upon them sprang The son of Atreus; suppliant, in the car, They clasp’d his knees; “Give quarter, Atreus’ son, Redeem our lives; our sire Antimachus Possesses goodly store of brass and gold, And well-wrought iron; and of these he fain Would pay a noble ransom, could he hear That in the Grecian ships we yet surviv’d.” Thus they, with gentle words, and tears, imploring; But all ungentle was the voice they heard In answer; “If indeed ye be the sons Of that Antimachus, who counsel gave, When noble Menelaus came to Troy With sage Ulysses, as ambassadors, To slay them both, nor suffer their return, Pay now the forfeit of your father’s guilt.” He said, and with a spear-thrust through his breast Peisander dash’d to earth; backward he fell. Down leap’d Hippolochus; but Atreus’ son Severing his hands and neck, amid the throng Sent whirling like a bowl the gory head. These left he there; and where the thickest throng Maintain’d the tug of war, thither he flew, And with him eager hosts of well-greav’d Greeks. Soon on the Trojans’ flight enforc’d they hung, Destroying; foot on foot, and horse on horse; While from the plain thick clouds of dust arose Beneath the armed hoofs of clatt’ring steeds; And on the monarch Agamemnon press’d, Still slaying, urging still the Greeks to arms. As when amid a densely timber’d wood Light the devouring flames, by eddying winds Hither and thither borne, fast falls the copse Prostrate beneath the fire’s impetuous course; So thickly fell the flying Trojans’ heads Beneath the might of Agamemnon’s arm; And here and there, athwart the pass of war, Was many an empty car at random whirl’d By strong-neck’d steeds, of guiding hands bereft; Stretch’d on the plain they lay, more welcome sight To carrion birds than to their widow’d wives. But Hector, from the fray and din of war, And dust, and blood, and carnage, Jove withdrew. Still on Atrides press’d, the Greek pursuit With eager shouts exciting; past the tomb Of Ilus, ancient son of Dardanus, And tow’rd the fig-tree, midway o’er the plain, Straining to gain the town, the Trojans fled; While loudly shouting, his unconquer’d hands With carnage dyed, Atrides urg’d their flight. But when the Scaean gates and oak were reach’d, They made a stand, and fac’d the foe’s assault. Some o’er the open plain were yet dispers’d; As heifers, by a lion scatter’d wide, At dead of night; all fly; on one descends The doom of death; her with his pow’rful teeth He seizes, and, her neck first broken, rends, And on her entrails gorging, laps her blood. So these the monarch Agamemnon chas’d, Slaying the hindmost; they in terror fled: Some headlong, backward some, Atrides’ hand Hurl’d from their chariot many a warrior bold; So forward and so fierce he bore his spear. But as he near’d the city, and stood beneath The lofty wall, the Sire of Gods and men