He said; but stout Ulysses heard him not, And to the ships pursued his hurried way. But in the front, Tydides, though alone, Remain’d undaunted; by old Nestor’s car He stood, and thus the aged chief address’d: “Old man, these youthful warriors press thee sore, Thy vigour spent, and with the weight of years Oppress’d; and helpless too thy charioteer, And slow thy horses; mount my car, and prove How swift my steeds, or in pursuit or flight, From those of Tros descended, scour the plain; My noble prize from great Æneas won. Leave to th’ attendants these; while mine we launch Against the Trojan host, that Hector’s self May know how strong my hand can hurl the spear.” He said; and Nestor his advice obey’d: The two attendants, valiant Sthenelus, And good Eurymedon, his horses took, While on Tydides’ car they mounted both. The aged Nestor took the glitt’ring reins, And urg’d the horses; Hector soon they met: As on he came, his spear Tydides threw, Yet struck not Hector; but his charioteer, Who held the reins, the brave Thebaeus’ son, Eniopeus, through the breast transfix’d, Beside the nipple; from the car he fell, The startled horses swerving at the sound; And from his limbs the vital spirit fled. Deep, for his comrade slain, was Hector’s grief; Yet him, though griev’d, perforce he left to seek A charioteer; nor wanted long his steeds A guiding hand; for Archeptolemus, Brave son of Iphitus, he quickly found, And bade him mount his swiftly-flying car, And to his hands the glitt’ring reins transferr’d. Then fearful ruin had been wrought, and deeds Untold achiev’d, and like a flock of lambs, The adverse hosts been coop’d beneath the walls, Had not the Sire of Gods and men beheld, And with an awful peal of thunder hurl’d His vivid lightning down; the fiery bolt Before Tydides’ chariot plough’d the ground. Fierce flash’d the sulph’rous flame, and whirling round Beneath the yoke th’ affrighted horses quailed. From Nestor’s hand escap’d the glitt’ring reins, And, trembling, thus to Diomed he spoke: “Turn we to flight, Tydides; see’st thou not, That Jove from us his aiding hand withholds? This day to Hector Saturn’s son decrees The meed of vict’ry; on some future day, If so he will, the triumph may be ours; For man, how brave soe’er, cannot o’errule The will of Jove, so much the mightier he.” Whom answer’d thus the valiant Diomed: “Truly, old man, and wisely dost thou speak; But this the bitter grief that wrings my soul: Some day, amid the councillors of Troy Hector may say, ‘Before my presence scar’d Tydides sought the shelter of the ships.’ Thus when he boasts, gape earth, and hide my shame!” To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied: “Great son of Tydeus, oh what words are these! Should Hector brand thee with a coward’s name, No credence would he gain from Trojan men, Or Dardan, or from Trojan warriors’ wives, Whose husbands in the dust thy hand hath laid.”