He said: they heard, and all obey’d his words: The mighty Ajax, and Idomeneus The King, and Teucer, and Meriones, And Meges, bold as Mars, with all their best, Their stedfast battle rang’d, to wait th’ assault Of Hector and his Trojans; while behind, Th’ unwarlike many to the ships retir’d. The Trojan mass came on, by Hector led With haughty stride; before him Phoebus went, His shoulders veil’d in cloud; his arm sustain’d The awful Ægis, dread to look on, hung With shaggy tassels round and dazzling bright; Which Vulcan, skilful workman, gave to Jove, To scatter terror ’mid the souls of men. This on his arm, the Trojan troops he led. Firm stood the mass of Greeks; from either side Shrill clamours rose; and fast from many a string The arrows flew, and many a jav’lin, hurl’d By vig’rous arms; some buried in the flesh Of stalwart youths, and many, ere they reach’d Their living mark, fell midway on the plain, Fix’d in the ground, in vain athirst for blood. While Phoebus motionless his Ægis held, Thick flew the shafts, and fast the people fell On either side; but when he turn’d its flash Full in the faces of the astonish’d Greeks, And shouted loud, their spirits within them quail’d, Their fiery courage borne in mind no more. As when two beasts of prey, at dead of night. With sudden onset scatter wide a herd Of oxen, or a num’rous flock of sheep, Their keepers absent; so unnerv’d by fear The Greeks dispers’d; such panic ’mid their ranks, That vict’ry so might crown the Trojan arms, Apollo sent; and as the masses broke, Each Trojan slew his man; by Hector’s hand Fell Stichius and Arcesilas; the one, The leader of Bœotia’s brass-clad host, The other, brave Menestheus’ trusted friend. Æneas Medon slew, and Iasus; Medon, the great Oileus’ bastard son, Brother of Ajax; he in Phylace, Far from his native home, was driv’n to dwell; Since one to Eriopis near akin, His sire Oileus’ wife, his hand had slain: And Iasus, th’ Athenian chief, was deem’d The son of Sphelus, son of Bucolus. Polydamas amid the foremost ranks Mecistes slew, Polites Echius, Agenor Olonius; while from Paris’ hand An arrow, ’mid the crowd of fugitives Shot from behind, beneath the shoulder struck Deiocus, and through his chest was driv’n: These while the Trojans of their arms despoil’d, Through ditch and palisades promiscuous dash’d The flying Greeks, and gain’d, hard-press’d, the wall; While loudly Hector to the Trojans call’d To assail the ships, and leave the bloody spoils: “Whom I elsewhere, and from the ships aloof Shall find, my hand shall doom him on the spot; For him no fun’ral pyre his kin shall light, Or male or female; but before the wall Our city’s dogs his mangled flesh shall tear.”