Such converse held they; all the space meanwhile Within the trench, between the tow’r and ships, Was closely throng’d with steeds and buckler’d men; By noble Hector, brave as Mars, and led By Jove to vict’ry, coop’d in narrow space; Who now had burnt with fire the Grecian ships, But Juno bade Atrides haste to rouse Their fainting courage; through the camp he pass’d; On his broad hand a purple robe he bore, And stood upon Ulysses’ lofty ship, The midmost, whence to shout to either side, Or to the tents of Ajax Telamon, Or of Achilles, who at each extreme, Confiding in their strength, had moor’d their ships. Thence to the Greeks he shouted, loud and clear: “Shame on ye, Greeks, base cowards, brave alone In outward semblance! where are now the vaunts Which once (so highly of ourselves we deem’d) Ye made, vain-glorious braggarts as ye were, In Lemnos’ isle, when, feasting on the flesh Of straight-horn’d oxen, and your flowing cups Crowning with ruddy wine, not one of you, But for a hundred Trojans in the field, Or for two hundred, deem’d himself a match: Now quail ye all before a single man, Hector, who soon will wrap our ships in fire. O Father Jove! what sov’reign e’er hast thou So far deluded, of such glory robb’d? Yet ne’er, on this disastrous voyage bent, Have I unheeded pass’d thine altar by; The choicest off’rings burning still on each, In hopes to raze the well-built walls of Troy. Yet to this pray’r at least thine ear incline; Grant that this coast in safety we may leave, Nor be by Trojans utterly subdued.” He said; and Jove, with pity, saw his tears; And, with a sign, his people’s safety vouch’d. He sent an eagle, noblest bird that flies, Who in his talons bore a wild deer’s fawn: The fawn he dropp’d beside the holy shrine, Where to the Lord of divination, Jove, The Greeks were wont their solemn rites to pay. The sign from Heav’n they knew; with courage fresh Assail’d the Trojans, and the fight renew’d. Then none of all the many Greeks might boast That he, before Tydides, drove his car Across the ditch, and mingled in the fight. His was the hand that first a crested chief, The son of Phradmon, Agelaus, struck. He turn’d his car for flight; but as he turn’d, The lance of Diomed, behind his neck, Between the shoulders, through his chest was driv’n; Headlong he fell, and loud his armour rang. Next to Tydides, Agamemnon came, And Menelaus, Atreus’ godlike sons; Th’ Ajaces both, in dauntless courage cloth’d; Idomeneus, with whom Meriones, His faithful comrade, terrible as Mars; Eurypylus, Euaemon’s noble son; The ninth was Teucer, who, with bended bow, Behind the shield of Ajax Telamon Took shelter; Ajax o’er him held his shield; Thence look’d he round, and aim’d amid the crowd; And as he saw each Trojan, wounded, fall, Struck by his shafts, to Ajax close he press’d, As to its mother’s shelt’ring arms a child, Conceal’d and safe beneath the ample targe.