But when they came to eddying Xanthus’ ford, Fair-flowing stream, born of immortal Jove, Achilles cut in twain the flying host; Part driving tow’rd the city, o’er the plain, Where on the former day the routed Greeks, When Hector rag’d victorious, fled amain. On, terror-struck, they rush’d; but Juno spread, To baffle their retreat, before their path, Clouds and thick darkness: half the fugitives In the deep river’s silv’ry eddies plung’d: With clamour loud they fell: the torrent roar’d; The banks around re-echoed; here and there, They, with the eddies wildly struggling, swam. As when, pursued by fire, a hov’ring swarm Of locusts riverward direct their flight, And, as th’ insatiate flames advance, they cow’r Amid the waters; so a mingled mass Of men and horses, by Achilles driv’n, The deeply-whirling stream, of Xanthus chok’d. His spear amid the tamarisks on the bank The hero left; on savage deeds intent, Arm’d with his sword alone, a God in pow’r, He sprang amid the torrent; right and left He smote; then fearful rose the groans of men Slain with the sword; the stream ran red with blood. As fishes, flying from a dolphin, crowd The shoal recesses of some open bay, In fear, for whom he catches he devours; So crouch’d the Trojans in the mighty stream Beneath the banks; and when at length his hand Wearied of slaughter, from the stream, alive, He dragg’d twelve youths, whose forfeit lives should be The bloody fine for slain Patroclus paid. Helpless from fear, as fawns, he brought them forth; Their hands secur’d behind them with the belts Which o’er their shirts of twisted mail they wore, And bade his comrades lead them to the ships. Then on again he dash’d, athirst for blood; And first encounter’d, flying from the stream, Lycaon, Priam’s son; him once before He by a nightly onslaught had surpris’d, And from his father’s vineyard captive borne: Where, as he cut, to form his chariot rail, A fig-tree’s tender shoots, unlook’d-for ill O’ertook him in the form of Peleus’ son. Thence in his ship to Lemnos’ thriving isle He bore him, ransom’d there by Jason’s son. His Imbrian host, Eetion, set him free With lib’ral gifts, and to Arisba sent: Escaping thence, he reach’d his native home. Twelve days save one, rejoicing, with his friends He spent, return’d from Lemnos: fate, the twelfth, Again consign’d him to Achilles’ hands, From him, reluctant, to receive his death. Him when Achilles, swift of foot, beheld, No spear in hand, of helm and shield bereft, All flung in haste away, as from the stream, Reeking with sweat, and faint with toil, he fled, He commun’d, wrathful, with his mighty heart: