Thus Menelaus; and the blood-stained arms Stripp’d from the corpse, and to his comrades gave; Then join’d again the foremost in the fray. There to th’ encounter forth Harpalion sprang, Son of the King Pylaemenes, who came, His father following, to the war of Troy, But back return’d not to his native land. He standing near, full in the centre struck Atrides’ shield, but drove not through the spear; Back to his comrades’ shelt’ring ranks he sprang In hopes of safety, glancing all around, His body to defend; but as he turn’d, In his right flank a brazen-pointed shaft, Shot by Meriones, was buried deep: Beneath the bone it pass’d, and pierc’d him through. At once he fell; and gasping out his life, Amid his comrades, writhing on the ground Like a crush’d worm he lay; and from the wound The dark blood pouring, drench’d the thirsty soil. The valiant troops of Paphlagonia clos’d Around him; on his car they plac’d the slain. And deeply sorrowing, to the city bore; His father, weeping, walk’d beside the car,[4] Nor vengeance for his slaughter’d son obtain’d. Paris with grief and anger saw him fall: For he in former days his guest had been In Paphlagonia; then, with anger fill’d, A brass-tipp’d arrow from his bow he sent. A certain man there was, Euchenor nam’d, Who dwelt in Corinth; rich, of blameless life, The son of Polyeidus, skilful seer: His fate well knowing, he embark’d; for oft The good old man had told him that his doom Was, or at home by sharp disease to die, Or with the Greeks by Trojan hands to fall. Embarking, he escap’d alike the fine By Greeks impos’d, and pangs of sharp disease. Him Paris smote between the ear and jaw; Swift fled his spirit, and darkness clos’d his eyes. Thus rag’d, like blazing fire, the furious fight.