Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/310

Soon as his luckless hand had touched the dead,
A rock's large fragment thundered on his head;
Hurled by Hectorean force, it cleft in twain
His shattered helm, and stretched him o'er the slain.
Fierce to the van of fight Patroclus came;
And, like an eagle darting at his game,
Sprung on the Trojan and the Lycian band:
What grief thy heart, what fury urged thy hand,
O generous Greek! when with full vigour thrown
At Sthenelaiis new the weighty stone,
Which sunk him to the dead: when Troy, too near
That arm, drew back; and Hector learned to fear.
Far as an able hand a lance can throw,
Or at the lists, or at the fighting foe,
So far the Trojans from their lines retired;
Till Glaucus, turning, all the rest inspired.
Then Bathycleiis fell beneath his rage,
The only hope of Ghalcon's trembling age:
Wide o'er the land was stretched his large domain,
With stately seats and riches blessed in vain.
Him, bold with youth, and eager to pursue
The flying Lycians, Glaucus met, and slew;
Pierced through the bosom with a sudden wound,
He fell, and, falling, made the fields resound.
The Achaians sorrow for their hero slain;
With conquering shouts the Trojans shake the plain,
And crowd to spoil the dead: the Greeks oppose:
An iron circle round the carcass grows.
Then brave Laogonus resigned his breath,
Despatched by Merion to the shades of death:
On Ida's holy hill he made abode,
The priest of Jove, and honoured like his god.
Between the jaw and ear the javelin went:
The soul, exhaling, issued at the vent.
His spear Æneas at the victor threw,
Who, stooping forward, from the death withdrew;
The lance hissed harmless o'er his covering shield,
And trembling struck, and rooted in the field;
There yet scarce spent, it quivers on the plain,
Sent by the great Æneas' arm in vain.
"Swift as thou art," the raging hero cries,
"And skilled in dancing to dispute the prize,
My spear, the destined passage had it found,
Had fixed thy active vigour to the ground."
"O valiant leader of the Dardan host!"
Insulted Merion thus retorts the boast;
"Strong as you are, 'tis mortal force you trust,
An arm as strong may stretch thee in the dust.
And if to this my lance thy fate be given,