Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/272

His foaming coursers, swifter than the wind,
Speed to the town, and leave the war behind.
When now they touched the mead's enamelled side,
Where gentle Xanthus rolls his easy tide,
With watery drops the chief they sprinkle round,
Placed on the margin of the flowery ground.
Raised on his knees, he now ejects the gore;
Now faints anew, low sinking on the shore:
By fits he breathes, half views the fleeting skies,
And seals again, by fits, his swimming eyes.
Soon as the Greeks the chief's retreat beheld,
With double fury each invades the field.
Oïlean Ajax first his javelin sped,
Pierced by whose point the son of Enops bled;
Satnius the brave, whom beauteous Neïs bore
Amidst her flocks, on Satnio's silver shore.
Struck through the belly's rim, the warrior lies
Supine, and shades eternal veil his eyes.
An arduous battle rose around the dead;
By turns the Greeks, by turns the Trojans, bled.
Fired with revenge, Polydamas drew near,
And at Prothœnor shook the trembling spear:
The driving javelin through his shoulder thrust,
He sinks to earth, and grasps the bloody dust.
"Lo! thus," the victor cries, "we rule the field,
And thus their arms the race of Panthus wield:
From this unerring hand there flies no dart
But bathes its point within a Grecian heart.
Propped on that spear to which thou owest thy fall,
Go, guide thy darksome steps to Pluto's dreary hall."
He said, and sorrow touched each Argive breast;
The soul of Ajax burned above the rest.
As by his side the groaning warrior fell,
At the fierce foe he lanced his piercing steel;
The foe, reclining, shunned the flying death;
But Fate, Archilochus, demands thy breath;
Thy lofty birth no succour could impart,
The wings of death o'ertook thee on the dart:
Swift to perform heaven's fatal will it fled,
Full on the juncture of the neck and head,
And took the joint, and cut the nerves in twain;
The drooping head first tumbled to the plain:
So just the stroke, that yet the body stood
Erect, then rolled along the sands in blood.
"Here, proud Polydamas, here turn thy eyes!
The towering Ajax loud-insulting cries:
"Say, is this chief, extended on the plain,
A worthy vengeance for Prothœnor slain?
Mark well his port! his figure and his face