Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/101

616—638 Then sudden waved his flaming faulchion round,

And gashed his belly with a ghastly wound.

The corpse now breathless on the bloody plain,

To spoil his arms the victor strove in vain;

The Thracian bands against the victor pressed;

A grove of lances glittered at his breast;

Stern Thoas, glaring with revengeful eyes,

In sullen fury slowly quits the prize.

Thus fell two heroes, one the pride of Thrace,

And one the leader of the Epeian race;

Death's sable shade at once o'ercast their eyes,

In dust the vanquished and the victor lies,

With copious slaughter all the fields are red,

And heaped with growing mountains of the dead.

Had some brave chief this martial scene beheld,

By Pallas guarded through the dreadful field,

Might darts be bid to turn their points away,

And swords around him innocently play,

The war's whole art with wonder had he seen,

And counted heroes where he counted men.

So fought each host, with thirst of glory fired,

And crowds on crowds triumphantly expired.