While in his mind and spirit thus he mus’d, Onward the buckler’d ranks of Trojans came, And, to their harm, encircled him around. As when a boar, by dogs and stalwart youths Attack’d, the shelt’ring thicket leaves, and whets The tusks that gleam between his curved jaws; They crowd around, though ring his clatt’ring tusks, And, fearful though it be, await his rush: So crowded round Ulysses, dear to Jove, The Trojans; he, with brandish’d spear aloft, Sprang forth, and through the shoulder, from above, Deiopites wounded: Thoon next He slew, and Ennomus; then with his spear Chersidamas, in act to quit his car, Thrust through the loins below his bossy shield: Prone in the dust, he clutch’d the blood-stain’d soil. From these he turn’d; and wounded with his spear Charops, the high-born Socus’ brother, son Of Hippasus; then forward sprang, to aid His brother, godlike Socus; close he stood Before Ulysses, and address’d him thus: “Far-fam’d Ulysses, as in arms, in wiles Unwearied, thou this day o’er both the sons Of Hippasus, two mighty warriors slain, And of their armour spoil’d, shalt make thy boast, Or by my spear thyself shalt lose thy life.” He said, and on the shield’s broad circle struck: Through the bright shield the sturdy weapon drove, And through the rich-wrought baldrick, from the ribs Tearing the flesh away; but Pallas seiz’d, And turn’d it from the vital parts aside. The wound, Ulysses knew, was not to death, And back he drew, and thus to Socus cried: “Ill-fated thou! thy doom hath found thee now; Me hast thou hinder’d from the war awhile; But thee to swift destruction and dark death, This day I doom: great glory, of thee subdued, Shall I obtain, and Hades take thy soul.” Thus he: and Socus, turning, sought to fly; But as he turn’d him round, Ulysses’ spear Behind his neck, between the shoulder blades Was driv’n, and through his chest; thund’ring he fell, And o’er his fall Ulysses, vaunting, thus: “Socus, thou son of warlike Hippasus, Here hast thou found, nor couldst escape, thy doom. Ill-fated thou! nor sire’s nor mother’s hand Shall gather up thy bones, but carrion birds O’er thee shall flap their baleful wings, and tear Thy mangled flesh; for me, whene’er I die The sons of Greece will build my fun’ral pile.” From out his flesh, and from the bossy shield, The spear of Socus, as he spoke, he drew; And as he drew it forth, out gush’d his blood, With anguish keen. The Trojans, when they saw Ulysses’ blood, with clam’rous shouts advanc’d Promiscuous; he, retiring, shouted loud To call his comrades; loud as head of man Could bear, he shouted thrice; and thrice his shout The warlike Menelaus heard, and thus To Ajax, standing by his side, he spoke: