Meanwhile the Greeks, in firm array, endur’d The onset of the Trojans; nor could these The assailants, though in numbers less, repel; Nor those again the Grecian masses break, And force their passage through the ships and tents, As by a rule, in cunning workman’s hand, Who all his art by Pallas’ aid has learnt, A vessel’s plank is smooth and even laid, So level lay the balance of the fight. Others round other ships maintain’d the war, But Hector that of Ajax sought alone. For that one ship they two unwearied toil’d; Nor Hector Ajax from his post could move, And burn the ship with fire; nor he repel The foe who came protected by a God. Then noble Ajax with his jav’lin smote Caletor, son of Clytius, through the breast, As tow’rd the ship a blazing torch he bore; Thund’ring he fell, and dropp’d his hand the torch. But Hector, when his eyes his kinsman saw By the dark vessel, prostrate in the dust, On Trojans and on Lycians call’d aloud: “Trojans and Lycians, and ye Dardans, fam’d In close encounter, in this press of war Slack not your efforts; haste to save the son Of Clytius, nor let Greeks his arms possess, Who ’mid their throng of ships has nobly fall’n.” At Ajax, as he spoke, his gleaming spear He threw, but miss’d his aim; yet Lycophron, His comrade, of Cythera, Mastor’s son (Who flying from Cythera’s lovely isle With guilt of bloodshed, near to Ajax dwelt), Standing beside the chief, above the ear He struck, and pierc’d the brain: from the tall prow Backwards he fell, his limbs relax’d in death. Then Ajax, shudd’ring, on his brother call’d: “Good Teucer, we have lost a faithful friend, The son of Mastor, our Cytheran guest, Whom as a father all rever’d; who now Lies slain by noble Hector. Where are then Thine arrows, swift-wing’d messengers of fate, And where thy trusty bow, Apollo’s gift?”