And new-shed blood hot-welling plashed on me 790
As by my murdered lord's death-throes I lay.
Upright I leapt, with never a spear in hand.
Then, as I peered and groped to find my lance,
From hard by 'neath my ribs a sword-thrust came
From some strong man—strong, for I felt the blade 795
Strike home, felt that deep furrow of the gash.
Face-down I fell: the chariot and the steeds[1]
The robbers took, and fled into the night.
Ah me! Ah me!
Pain racketh me—O wretch! I cannot stand.
What ill befell I know—I saw it. How 800
The slain men perished, this I cannot tell,
Nor by what hand: but this do I divine—
Foully have they been dealt with by allies.
Chorus.
O charioteer of Thracia's lord ill-starred,
Never suspect of this deed thine allies. 805
Lo, Hector's self, who hath heard of your mischance,
Comes : in thine ills he sorroweth, as beseems.
Enter Hector.
Hector.
How passed the men[2] who wrought this direst scathe—
Spies from the foemen—passed unmarked of you,
For your shame, and for slaughter of the host, 810
Nor ye withstood them entering the camp,
