Hector meantime the Trojan troops array’d. Then fiercer grew, and more intense the strain Of furious fight, when Ocean’s dark-hair’d King And Priam’s noble son were met in arms, And aided, this the Trojans, that the Greeks. High tow’rd the tents uprose the surging sea, As with loud clamour met th’ opposing hosts. Less loud the roar of Ocean’s wave, that driv’n By stormy Boreas, breaks upon the beach; Less loud the crackling of the flames that rage In the deep forest of some mountain glen; Less loud the wind, to wildest fury rous’d, Howls in the branches of the lofty oaks; Than rose the cry of Trojans and of Greeks, As each, with furious shout, encounter’d each. At Ajax first, who straight before him stood, Great Hector threw his spear, nor miss’d his aim, Where the two belts, the one which bore his shield, His silver-studded sword the other, met Across his breast; these two his life preserv’d. Hector was wroth, that from his stalwart hand The spear had flown in vain; and back he sprang For safety to his comrades’ shelt’ring ranks: But mighty Ajax Telamon upheav’d A pond’rous stone, of many, all around That scatter’d lay beneath the warriors’ feet, And serv’d to prop the ships; with one of these, As Hector backward stepp’d, above the shield He smote him on the breast, below the throat. With whirling motion, circling as it flew, The mass he hurl’d. As by the bolt of Heav’n Uprooted, prostrate lies some forest oak; The sulph’rous vapour taints the air; appall’d, Bereft of strength, the near beholder stands, And awestruck hears the thunder-peal of Jove; So in the dust the might of Hector lay: Dropp’d from his hand the spear; the shield and helm Fell with him; loud his polished armour rang. On rush’d, with joyous shout, the sons of Greece, In hope to seize the spoil; thick flew the spears: Yet none might reach or wound the fallen chief; For gather’d close around, the bravest all, Valiant Æneas, and Polydamas, Godlike Agenor, and the Lycian chief Sarpedon, and the noble Glaucus stood. Nor did the rest not aid; their shields’ broad orbs Before him still they held, while in their arms His comrades bore him from the battle-field, To where, with charioteer and well-wrought car, Beyond the fight, his flying coursers stood, Which bore him, deeply groaning, tow’rd the town. But when the ford was reach’d of Xanthus’ stream, Broad-flowing, eddying, by immortal Jove Begotten, on the ground they laid him down, And dash’d the cooling water on his brow: Reviv’d, he lifted up awhile his eyes; Then on his knees half rising, he disgorg’d The clotted blood; but backward to the earth, Still by the blow subdu’d, again he fell, And darkling shades of night his eyes o’erspread.