Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/256

Wide on the left the force of Greece commands,
And conquest hovers o'er the Achaian bands:
With such a tide superior virtue swayed,
And he that shakes the solid earth, gave aid.
But in the centre Hector fixed remained,
Where first the gates were forced, and bulwarks gained;
There, on the margin of the hoary deep,
Their naval station where the Ajaces keep,
And where low walls confine the beating tides,
Whose humble barrier scarce the foe divides;
Where late in fight both foot and horse engaged,
And all the thunder of the battle raged,
There joined, the whole Bœotian strength remains,
The proud Ionians with their sweeping trains,
Locrians and Phthians, and the Epeian force;
But, joined, repel not Hector's fiery course.
The flower of Athens, Stichius, Phidas led,
Bias and great Menestheus at their head.
Meges the strong the Epeian bands controlled,
And Dracius prudent, and Amphion bold;
The Phthians Medon, famed for martial might,
And brave Podarces, active in the fight.
This drew from Phylacus his noble line,
Iphiclus' son; and that, Oïleus, thine:
Young Ajax' brother, by a stolen embrace;
He dwelt far distant from his native place,
By his fierce stepdame from his father's reign
Expelled and exiled for her brother slain:
These rule the Phthians, and their arms employ,
Mixed with Bœotians, on the shores of Troy.
⁠Now side by side, with like unwearied care,
Each Ajax laboured through the field of war.
So when two lordly bulls, with equal toil,
Force the bright ploughshare through the fallow soil,
Joined to one yoke, the stubborn earth they tear,
And trace large furrows with the shining share:
O'er their huge limbs the foam descends in snow,
And streams of sweat down their sour foreheads flow.
A train of heroes followed through the field,
Who bore by turns great Ajax' seven-fold shield,
Whene'er he breathed, remissive of his might,
Tired with the incessant slaughters of the fight.
No following troops his brave associate grace;
In close engagement an unpractised race,
The Locrian squadrons nor the javelin wield,
Nor bear the helm, nor lift the moony shield;
But skilled from far the flying shaft to wing,
Or whirl the sounding pebble from the sling;

Dexterous with these they aim a certain wound,