And now the host of Troy to flight inclined Before the Grecians, and the Chiefs of Greece Each slew a warrior. Agamemnon first Gigantic Odius from his chariot hurl’d. Chief of the Halizonians. He to flight Turn’d foremost, when the monarch in his spine Between the shoulder-bones his spear infixt, And urged it through his breast. Sounding he fell, And loud his batter’d armor rang around.

By brave Idomeneus a Lydian died, Phæstus, from fruitful Tarne sent to Troy, Son of Mæonian Borus; him his steeds Mounting, Idomeneus the spear-renown’d Through his right shoulder pierced; unwelcome night Involved him; from his chariot down he fell, And the attendant Cretans stripp’d his arms.

But Menelaus, son of Atreus slew With his bright spear Scamandrius, Stropius’ son, A skilful hunter; for Diana him, Herself, the slaughter of all savage kinds Had taught, on mountain or in forest bred. But she, shaft-aiming Goddess, in that hour Avail’d him not, nor his own matchless skill; For Menelaus, Atreus son spear-famed, Him flying wounded in the spine between His shoulders, and the spear urged through his breast. Prone on his loud-resounding arms he fell.

Next, by Meriones, Phereclus died, Son of Harmonides. All arts that ask A well-instructed hand his sire had learn’d, For Pallas dearly loved him. He the fleet, Prime source of harm to Troy and to himself, For Paris built, unskill’d to spell aright The oracles predictive of the wo. Phereclus fled; Meriones his flight Outstripping, deep in his posterior flesh A spear infix’d; sliding beneath the bone It grazed his bladder as it pass’d, and stood Protruded far before. Low on his knees Phereclus sank, and with a shriek expired. Pedæus, whom, although his spurious son, Antenor’s wife, to gratify her lord, Had cherish’d as her own—him Meges slew. Warlike Phylides following close his flight, His keen lance drove into his poll, cut sheer His tongue within, and through his mouth enforced The glittering point. He, prostrate in the dust, The cold steel press’d between his teeth and died.

Eurypylus, Evemon’s son, the brave Hypsenor slew; Dolopion was his sire, Priest of Scamander, reverenced as a God. In vain before Eurypylus he fled; He, running, with his falchion lopp’d his arm Fast by the shoulder; on the field his hand Fell blood-distained, and destiny severe With shades of death for ever veil’d his eyes.