He said; his words fresh courage gave to all: Then thus Sarpedon, in reproachful tone, Address’d the godlike Hector; “Where is now, Hector, the spirit that heretofore was thine? ’Twas once thy boast that ev’n without allies Thyself, thy brethren, and thy house, alone The city could defend: for all of these I look in vain, and see not one; they all, As curs around a lion, cow’r and crouch: We, strangers and allies, maintain the fight. I to your aid, from lands afar remote, From Lycia came, by Xanthus’ eddying stream; There left a cherish’d wife, and infant son, And rich possessions, which might envy move; Yet I my troops encourage; and myself Have play’d my part, though nought have I to lose, Nought that the Greeks could drive or bear away; But thou stand’st idly by; nor bidd’st the rest Maintain their ground, and guard their wives and homes. Beware lest ye, as in the meshes caught Of some wide-sweeping net, become the prey And booty of your foes, who soon shall lay Your prosp’rous city level with the dust. By day and night should this thy thoughts engage, With constant pray’r to all thy brave allies, Firmly to stand, and wipe this shame away.” He said; and Hector felt the biting speech; Down from his car he leap’d; and through the ranks, Two jav’lins brandishing, he pass’d, to arms Exciting all, and rais’d his battle-cry. The tide was turn’d; again they fac’d the Greeks: In serried ranks the Greeks, undaunted, stood. As when the wind from off a threshing-floor, Where men are winnowing, blows the chaff away; When yellow Ceres with the breeze divides The corn and chaff, which lies in whit’ning heaps; So thick the Greeks were whiten’d o’er with dust, Which to the brazen vault of Heav’n arose Beneath the horses’ feet, that with the crowd Were mingled, by their drivers turn’d to flight. Unwearied still, they bore the brunt; but Mars The Trojans succouring, the battle-field Veil’d in thick clouds, from ev’ry quarter brought. Thus he of Phoebus of the golden sword Obey’d th’ injunction, bidding him arouse The courage of the Trojans, when he saw Pallas approaching to support the Greeks. Then from the wealthy shrine Apollo’s self Æneas brought, and vigour fresh infus’d: Amid his comrades once again he stood; They joy’d to see him yet alive, and sound, And full of vigour; yet no question ask’d: No time for question then, amid the toils Impos’d by Phoebus of the silver bow, And blood-stain’d Mars, and Discord unappeas’d.