And from his arm the sturdy spear withdrew; Then backward leap’d amid his comrades’ ranks; While round his brother’s waist Polites threw His arms, and led him from the battle-field To where, with charioteer and rich-wrought car, Beyond the fight, his flying coursers stood. Him, rack’d with pain, and groaning, while the blood Stream’d down his wounded arm, to Troy they bore. The rest fought on, and loud the tumult rose. Æneas through the throat of Aphareus, Caletor’s son, turn’d sideways tow’rds him, drove His glitt’ring spear; and down on th’ other side, His shield and helmet following, sank his head; And o’er his eyes were cast the shades of death. As Thoon turn’d, Antilochus, who watch’d Th’ occasion, forward sprang, and with his spear Ripp’d all the flesh that lay along the spine Up to the neck; he backward fell, with hands Uplifted calling for his comrades’ aid: But forward sprang Antilochus, and tore His armour from his breast, while round he cast His watchful glances; for on ev’ry side On his broad shield the Trojans show’r’d their blows, But touch’d him not; for Neptune, ’mid the throng Of weapons, threw his guard o’er Nestor’s son. Yet not aloof he stood, but in their midst, Commingled; nor held motionless his spear; But ever threat’ning, turn’d from side to side, Prepar’d to hurl, or hand to hand engage. Him Adamas, the son of Asius, marked, As o’er the crowd he glanc’d; and springing forth, Struck with his spear the centre of the shield; But dark-hair’d Neptune grudg’d the hero’s life, And stay’d the brazen point; half in the shield, Like a fire-harden’d stake, remained infix’d, The other half lay broken, on the ground. Back to his comrades’ shelt’ring ranks he sprang, In hope of safety; but Meriones, Quick-following, plung’d his weapon through his groin, Where sharpest agony to wretched men Attends on death; there planted he his spear: Around the shaft he writh’d, and gasping groan’d, Like to a mountain bull, which, bound with cords, The herdsmen drag along, with struggles vain, Resisting; so the wounded warrior groan’d: But not for long: for fierce Meriones, Approaching, from his body tore the spear, And the dark shades of death his eyes o’erspread. Then Helenus, a weighty Thracian sword Wielding aloft, across the temples smote Deipyrus, and all his helmet crash’d; Which, as it roll’d beneath their feet, some Greek Seiz’d ’mid the press; his eyes were clos’d in death. The valiant Menelaus, Atreus’ son, With grief beheld; and royal Helenus With threat’ning mien approaching, pois’d on high His glitt’ring spear, while he the bowstring drew. Then simultaneous flew from either side The gleaming spear, and arrow from the string. The shaft of Priam’s son below the breast The hollow cuirass struck, and bounded off; As bound the dark-skinn’d beans, or clatt’ring peas, From the broad fan upon the threshing-floor, By the brisk breeze impell’d, and winnower’s force; From noble Menelaus’ cuirass so The stinging arrow bounding, glanc’d afar.