He said; and troubled by the heav’nly voice, Hector amid the throng of men withdrew. Then, girt with might, amid the Trojans sprang, With fearful shouts, Achilles; first he slew Otryntes’ son, Iphition, valiant chief Of num’rous warriors; him a Naiad nymph, In Hyde’s fertile vale, beneath the feet Of snow-clad Tmolus, to Otryntes bore; At him, as on he rush’d, Achilles hurl’d, And through his forehead drove his glitt’ring spear; The head was cleft in twain; thund’ring he fell, And o’er him thus Achilles made his boast: “Son of Otryntes, lie thou there, of men The most vain-glorious; here thou find’st thy death, Far from thy place of birth, beside the lake Gygaean; there hadst thou thine heritage Of old, beside the fish-abounding stream Of Hyllus, and by Hermus’ eddying flood.” Thus he, exulting: o’er Iphition’s eyes Were spread the shades of death; his mangled corpse Was crush’d beneath the Grecian chariot wheels, In the first shock. Demoleon next he smote, A helpful aid in war, Antenor’s son, Pierc’d thro’ the temples, thro’ the brass-bound helm; Nor check’d the brazen helm the spear, whose point Went crashing through the bone, that all the brain Was shatter’d; onward as he rush’d, he fell. Then through the neck Hippodamas he smote, Flying before him, mounted on his car. Deep groan’d he, breathing out his soul, as groans A bull, by sturdy youths to th’ altar dragg’d Of Neptune, King divine of Helice; Th’ Earth-shaking God, well pleas’d, the gift receives; E’en with such groans his noble spirit fled. The godlike Polydore he next assail’d, The son of Priam; him his aged sire Would fain have kept at home, of all his sons At once the youngest and the best-belov’d; Among them all for speed of foot unmatch’d; Whose youthful folly, in the foremost ranks His speed displaying, cost him now his life. Him, as he darted by, Achilles’ spear Struck through the centre of the back, where met The golden clasps that held the glitt’ring belt, And where the breastplate form’d a double guard: Right through his body pass’d the weapon’s point; Groaning, he fell upon his knees; dark clouds O’erspread his eyes; supporting with his hand His wounded bowels, on the ground he writh’d. When Hector saw his brother Polydore Writhing in death, a mist o’erspread his eyes Nor longer could he bear to stand aloof, But sprang to meet Achilles, flashing fire, His keen spear brandishing; at sight of him Up leap’d Achilles, and exulting cried: “Lo, here the man who most hath wrung my soul, Who slew my lov’d companion: now, methinks, Upon the pass of war not long shall we Stand separate, nor each the other shun.” Then, with stern glance, to godlike Hector thus: “Draw near, and quickly meet thy doom of death.”