Hector, disdaining that his lance had thus as good as swerv’d, Trode to his strength; but, going off, great Ajax with a stone, One of the many props for ships, that there lay trampled on, Strook his broad breast above his shield, just underneath his throat, And shook him piecemeal; when the stone sprung back again, and smote Earth, like a whirlwind, gath’ring dust with whirring fiercely round, For fervour of his unspent strength, in settling on the ground. And as when Jove’s bolt by the roots rends from the earth an oak, His sulphur casting with the blow a strong unsavoury smoke, And on the fall’n plant none dare look but with amazéd eyes, (Jove’s thunder being no laughing game) so bow’d strong Hector’s thighs, And so with tost-up heels he fell, away his lance he flung, His round shield follow’d, then his helm, and out his armour rung. The Greeks then shouted, and ran in, and hop’d to hale him off, And therefore pour’d on darts in storms, to keep his aid aloof; But none could hurt the people’s Guide, nor stir him from his ground; Sarpedon, prince of Lycia, and Glaucus so renown’d, Divine Agenor, Venus’ son, and wise Polydamas, Rush’d to his rescue, and the rest. No one neglective was Of Hector’s safety. All their shields, they couch’d about him close, Rais’d him from earth, and (giving him, in their kind arms, repose) From off the labour carried him, to his rich chariot, And bore him mourning towards Troy. But when the flood they got Of gulfy Xanthus, that was got by deathless Jupiter, There took they him from chariot, and all besprinkled there His temples with the stream. He breath’d, look’d up, assay’d to rise, And on his knees stay’d spitting blood. Again then clos’d his eyes, And back again his body fell. The main blow had not done Yet with his spirit. When the Greeks saw worthy Hector gone, Then thought they of their work, then charg’d with much more cheer the foe, And then, far first, Oïliades began the overthrow. He darted Satnius Enops’ son, whom famous Nais bore As she was keeping Enops’ flocks on Satnius’ river’s shore, And strook him in his belly’s rim, who upwards fell, and rais’d A mighty skirmish with his fall. And then Panthœdés seiz’d Prothenor Areilycides, with his revengeful spear, On his right shoulder, strook it through, and laid him breathless there; For which he insolently bragg’d, and cried out: “Not a dart From great-soul’d Panthus’ son, I think, shall ever vainlier part, But some Greek’s bosom it shall take, and make him give his ghost.” This brag the Grecians stomach’d much; but Telamonius most, Who stood most near Prothenor’s fall, and out he sent a lance, Which Panthus’ son, declining, ’scap’d, yet took it to sad chance Archilochus, Antenor’s son, whom heav’n did destinate To that stern end; ’twixt neck and head the jav’lin wrought his fate, And ran in at the upper joint of all the back long bone, Cut both the nerves; and such a load of strength laid Ajax on,