Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/216

214 He said, and forceful pierced his spacious shield;

Through the strong brass the ringing javelin thrown,

Ploughed half his side, and bared it to the bone.

By Pallas' care, the spear, though deep infixed,

Stopped short of life, nor with his entrails mixed.

The wound not mortal wise Ulysses knew,

Then furious thus, but first some steps withdrew:

"Unhappy man! whose death our hands shall grace!

Fate calls thee hence, and finished is thy race.

No longer check my conquests on the foe:

But, pierced by this, to endless darkness go,

And add one spectre to the realms below!"

He spoke, while Socus, seized with sudden fright,

Trembling gave way, and turned his back to flight,

Between his shoulders pierced the following dart,

And held its passage through the panting heart.

Wide in his breast appeared the grizly wound;

He falls: his armour rings against the ground.

Then thus Ulysses, gazing on the slain:

"Famed son of Hippasus! there press the plain;

There ends thy narrow span assigned by fate:

Heaven owes Ulysses yet a longer date.

Ah, wretch! no father shall thy corpse compose,

Thy dying eyes no tender mother close,

But hungry birds shall tear those balls away,

And hovering vultures scream around their prey,

Me Greece shall honour, when I meet my doom,

With solemn funerals, and a lasting tomb!

Then, raging with intolerable smart,

He writhes his body, and extracts the dart.

The dart a tide of spouting gore pursued,

And gladdened Troy with sight of hostile blood.

Now troops on troops the fainting chief invade;

Forced he recedes, and loudly calls for aid.

Thrice to its pitch his lofty voice he rears;

The well-known voice thrice Menelaüs hears;

Alarmed, to Ajax Telamon he cried,

Who shares his labours, and defends his side:

"O friend! Ulysses' shouts invade my ear;

Distressed he seems, and no assistance near:

Strong as he is, yet, one opposed to all,

Oppressed by multitudes, the best may fall.

Greece, robbed of him, must bid her host despair,

And feel a loss not ages can repair."

Then, where the cry directs, his course he bends;

Great Ajax, like the god of war, attends.

The prudent chief in sore distress they found,

With bands of furious Trojans compassed round;

As when some huntsman, with a flying spear,