Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/286

284 With anguish Ajax views the piercing sight,

And thus inflames his brother to the tight:

"Teucer, behold! extended on the shore,

Our friend, our loved companion, now no more.

Dear as a parent, with a parent's care

To fight our wars, he left his native air.

This death deplored to Hector's rage we owe;

Revenge, revenge it on the cruel foe.

Where are those darts on which the fates attend?

And where the bow which Phrebus taught to bend?"

Impatient Teucer, hastening to his aid,

Before the chief his ample bow displayed;

The well-stored quiver on his shoulders hung:

Then hissed his arrow, and the bow-string sung.

Clytus, Pisenor's son, renowned in fame,

To thee, Polydamas, an honoured name,

Drove through the thickest of the embattled plains

The startling steeds, and shook his eager reins.

As all on glory ran his ardent mind,

The pointed death arrests him from behind:

Through his fair neck the thrilling arrow flies;

In youth's first bloom reluctantly he dies.

Hurled from the lofty seat, at distance far,

The headlong coursers spurn his empty car;

Till sad Polydamas the steeds restrained,

And gave, Astynoiis, to thy careful hand;

Then, fired to vengeance, rushed amidst the foe;

Rage edged his sword, and strengthened every blow.

Once more bold Teucer, in his country's cause,

At Hector's breast a chosen arrow draws:

And had the weapon found the destined way,

Thy fall, great Trojan! had renowned that day.

But Hector was not doomed to perish then:

The all-wise disposer of the fates of men,

Imperial Jove, his present death withstands;

Nor was such glory due to Teucer's hands.

At his full stretch as the tough string he drew,

Struck by an arm unseen, it burst in two:

Down dropped the bow: the shaft with brazen head

Fell innocent, and on the dust lay dead.

The astonished archer to great Ajax cries:

"Some god prevents our destined enterprise:

Some god, propitious to the Trojan foe,

Has, from my arm unfailing, struck the bow,

And broke the nerve my hands had twined with art,

Strong to impel the flight of many a dart."

"Since heaven commands it," Ajax made reply,

"Dismiss the bow, and lay thy arrows by:

Thy arms no less suffice the lance to wield,