“Trojans and Lycians, and ye Dardans fam’d In close encounter, quit ye now like men; Against the ships your wonted valour show. E’en now, before our eyes, hath Jove destroy’d A chieftain’s weapon. Easy ’tis to trace O’er human wars th’ o’erruling hand of Jove, To whom he gives the prize of victory, And whom, withholding aid, he minishes, As now the Greeks, while we his favour gain. Pour then your force united on the ships; And if there be among you, who this day Shall meet his doom, by sword or arrow slain, E’en let him die! a glorious death is his Who for his country falls; and dying, leaves Preserv’d from danger, children, wife, and home, His heritage uninjur’d, when the Greeks Embarking hence shall take their homeward way.” His words fresh courage rous’d in ev’ry breast. Ajax, on th’ other side, address’d the Greeks: “Shame on ye, Greeks! this very hour decides If we must perish, or be sav’d, and ward Destruction from our ships; and can ye hope That each, if Hector of the glancing helm Shall burn our ships, on foot can reach his home? Or hear ye not, how, burning to destroy Our vessels, Hector cheers his forces on? Not to the dance, but to the fight he calls; Nor better counsel can for us be found, Than in close fight with heart and hand to join. ’Twere better far at once to die, than live Hemm’d in and straiten’d thus, in dire distress, Close to our ships, by meaner men beset.” His words fresh courage rous’d in ev’ry breast. Then Hector Schedius, Perimedes’ son, The Thracian leader, slew; on th’ other side Ajax the captain of the foot o’ercame, Laodamas, Antenor’s noble son; While of his arms Polydamas despoil’d Cyllenian Otus, friend of Phyleus’ son, The proud Epeians’ leader; Meges saw, And rush’d upon him; but Polydamas, Stooping, the blow evaded; him he miss’d; For Phoebus will’d not Panthous’ son should fall In the front rank contending; but the spear Smote Croesmus through the breast; thund’ring he fell, And from his corpse the victor stripp’d his arms. Him Dolops, son of Lampus, spearman skill’d, Well train’d in ev’ry point of war, assail’d (The son of Lampus he, the prince of men, Son of Laomedon); from close at hand Forward he sprang, and thrust at Meges’ shield; But him the solid corslet which he wore, With breast and back-piece fitted, sav’d from harm:* The corslet Phyleus brought from Ephyra, By Selles’ stream; Euphetes, King of men, Bestow’d it as a friendly gift, to wear In battle for a guard from hostile spears; Which from destruction now preserv’d his son. Next Meges struck, with keen-edg’d spear, the crown Of Dolops’ brass-bound, horsehair-crested helm, Sev’ring the horsehair plume, which, brilliant late With crimson dye, now lay defil’d in dust. Yet fought he on, and still for vict’ry hop’d; But warlike Menelaus to the aid Of Meges came; of Dolops unobserv’d He stood, and from behind his shoulder pierc’d; The point, its course pursuing, through his breast Was driv’n, and headlong on his face he fell.