The Greeks too from the battle-field convey’d The slain Tlepolemus; Ulysses saw, Patient of spirit, but deeply mov’d at heart; And with conflicting thoughts his breast was torn, If first he should pursue the Thund’rer’s son, Or deal destruction on the Lycian host. But fate had not decreed the valiant son Of Jove to fall beneath Ulysses’ hand; So on the Lycians Pallas turn’d his wrath. Alastor then, and Coeranus he slew, Chromius, Alcander, Halius, Prytanis, Noemon; nor had ended then the list Of Lycian warriors by Ulysses slain; But Hector of the glancing helm beheld; Through the front ranks he rush’d, with burnish’d crest Resplendent, flashing terror on the Greeks; With joy Sarpedon saw his near approach, And with imploring tones address’d him thus: “Hector, thou son of Priam, leave me not A victim to the Greeks, but lend thine aid: Then in your city let me end my days. For not to me is giv’n again to see My native land; or, safe returning home, To glad my sorrowing wife and infant child.” Thus he; but Hector, answ’ring not a word, Pass’d on in silence, hasting to pursue The Greeks, and pour destruction on their host. Beneath the oak of aegis-bearing Jove His faithful comrades laid Sarpedon down, And from his thigh the valiant Pelagon, His lov’d companion, drew the ashen spear. He swoon’d, and giddy mists o’erspread his eyes: But soon reviv’d, as on his forehead blew, While yet he gasp’d for breath, the cooling breeze. By Mars and Hector of the brazen helm The Greeks hard-press’d, yet fled not to their ships, Nor yet sustain’d the fight; but back retir’d Soon as they learned the presence of the God. Say then who first, who last, the prowess felt Of Hector, Priam’s son, and mail-clad Mars? The godlike Teuthras first, Orestes next, Bold charioteer; th’ Ætolian spearman skill’d, Trechus, Œnomaus, and Helenus, The son of Œnops; and Oresbius, girt With sparkling girdle; he in Hyla dwelt, The careful Lord of boundless wealth, beside Cephisus’ marshy banks; Bœotia’s chiefs Around him dwelt, on fat and fertile soil. Juno, the white-arm’d Queen, who saw these two The Greeks destroying in the stubborn fight, To Pallas thus her winged words address’d: “O Heav’n! brave child of aegis-bearing Jove, Vain was our word to Menelaus giv’n. That he the well-built walls of Troy should raze, And safe return, if unrestrain’d we leave Ferocious Mars to urge his mad career. Come then; let us too mingle in the fray.”