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But nought availed, for in one storm the darts,
The arrows, javelins, twy-point spits outlaunched,
And slaughter-knives, came hurtling to his feet.
Dread war-dance hadst thou seen of thy son's son 1135
From darts swift-swerving! Now they hemmed him round
On all sides, giving him no breathing space.
Then from the altar's hearth of sacrifice
Leaping with that leap which the Trojans knew,
He dashed upon them. They, like doves that spy 1140
The hawk high-wheeling, turned their backs in flight.
Many in mingled turmoil fell, by wounds,
Or trampled of others in strait corridors.
Unhallowed clamour broke the temple-hush,
And far cliffs echoed. As in a calm mid storm, 1145
My lord stood flashing in his gleaming arms,
Till from the inmost shrine there pealed a voice
Awful and thrilling, kindling that array
And battleward turning. Then Achilles' son
Fell, stabbed with a brand keen-whetted through the side 1150
By a man of Delphi, one that laid him low
With helpers many: but, when he was down,
Who did not thrust the steel, or cast the stone,
Hurling and battering? All his form was marred,
So goodly-moulded, by their wild-beast wounds. 1155
Then him, beside the altar lying dead,
They cast forth from the incense-breathing shrine.
But with all speed our hands uplifted him,
And to thee bear him, to lament with wail
And weeping, ancient, and to ensepulchre. 1160
Thus he that giveth oracles to the world,
He that is judge to all men of the right,