He said, and seizing by the foot the slain, Dragg’d from the press; but to the rescue came Asius, himself on foot before his car: So close his charioteer the horses held, They breath’d upon his shoulders; eagerly He sought to reach Idomeneus; but he, Preventing, through his gullet drove the spear, Beneath his chin; right through the weapon pass’d; He fell; as falls an oak, or poplar tall, Or lofty pine, which on the mountain top, For some proud ship, the woodman’s axe hath hewn: So he, before the car and horses stretch’d, His death-cry utt’ring, clutch’d the blood-stain’d soil; Bewilder’d, helpless, stood his charioteer; Nor dar’d, escaping from the foemen’s hands, To turn his horses: him, Antilochus Beneath the waistband struck; nor aught avail’d His brazen breastplate; through the middle thrust, He, from the well-wrought chariot, gasping, fell. Antilochus, the noble Nestor’s son, The horses seiz’d, and from the Trojan ranks Drove to the Grecian camp. For Asius’ death Deep griev’d, Deiphobus, approaching, hurl’d Against Idomeneus his glitt’ring spear: The coming weapon he beheld, and shunn’d: Beneath the ample circle of his shield, With hides and brazen plates encircled round, And by two rods sustain’d, conceal’d he stood: Beneath he crouch’d, and o’er him flew the spear: Yet harsh it grated, glancing from the shield; Nor bootless from that stalwart hand it flew, But through the midriff, close below the heart, Hypsenor, son of Hippasus, it struck, And straight relax’d his limbs; then shouting loud, In boastful tone, Deiphobus exclaim’d: