292
THE ILIAD
899—909
There stand the Trojans, and here rolls the deep.
'Tis hostile ground you tread; your native lands
Far, far from hence: your fates are in your hands."
Raging he spoke; nor farther wastes his breath,
But turns his javelin to the work of death.
Whatever bold Trojan armed his daring bands
Against the sable ships with flaming brands,
So well the chief his naval weapon sped,
The luckless warrior at his stern lay dead:
Full twelve, the boldest, in a moment fell,
Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell.
