Polydamas, Agenor the divine, The pious warrior of Anchises' line, And each bold leader of the Lycian band, With covering shields (a friendly circle) stand, His mournful followers, with assistant care, The groaning hero to his chariot bear; His foaming coursers, swifter than the wind, Speed to the town, and leave the war behind. When now they touch'd the mead's enamell'd 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. Oilean Ajax first his javelin sped, Pierced by whose point the son of Enops bled; (Satnius the brave, whom beauteous Neis 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 Prothoenor 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. Propp'd on that spear to which thou owest thy fall, Go, guide thy darksome steps to Pluto's dreary hall." He said, and sorrow touch'd each Argive breast: The soul of Ajax burn'd above the rest. As by his side the groaning warrior fell, At the fierce foe he launch'd his piercing steel; The foe, reclining, shunn'd the flying death; But fate, Archilochus, demands thy breath: Thy lofty birth no succour cou