Book XIV: The Fraud Practised on Jupiter by Juno

The mighty uproar was not unperceivedBy Nestor’s ear, who, sitting at the wine,Addressed the son of Aesculapius thus:—

“Noble Machaon, what will happen now?Bethink thee: for the clamor grows more loudFrom our young warriors at the ships. Stay hereAnd drink the purple wine, while for thy limbsThe fair-haired Hecamede warms the bathAnd washes the dark blood away, and IWill climb the watch-tower, and will know the worst.

He spake, and took a buckler, fairly wrought,Glittering with brass, and left within the tentBy Thrasymedes, his own knightly son,Who to the war had borne his father’s shield;He grasped a ponderous spear, with brazen blade,And stood without the tent, and saw a sightOf shame—the routed Greeks, and close behindThe haughty Trojans putting them to flight,And the Greek wall o’erthrown. As when the faceOf the great deep grows dark with weltering waves,That silently forbode the swift descentOf the shrill blast, the yet uncertain seasRoll not to either side, till from the seatOf Jupiter comes down the violent wind—So paused the aged chief, uncertain yetOf purpose—whether he should join the throngOf Greeks, with their swift coursers, or repairTo sovereign Agamemnon, Atreus’ son.This to his thought seemed wiser, and he wentTo seek Atrides. Meantime both the hostsUrged on the work of slaughter; still they fought,And still the solid brass upon their limbsRang, smitten with the swords and two-edged spears.

Then, coming from the fleet, the wounded kings,Nurslings of Jove, met Nestor; toward him cameTydides, and Ulysses, and the sonOf Atreus, Agamemnon. On the beachOf the gray deep their ships were ranged afarFrom that fierce conflict. There the Greeks had drawn,To the plain’s edge, the first that touched the land,And built a rampart at their sterns. Though longThe shore-line, it sufficed not to containThe galleys, and the host had scanty room;Wherefore they drew the galleys up in rows,Row behind row, and filled the shore’s wide mouthBetween the promontories. There the kingsWalked, leaning on their lances, to beholdThe tumult and the fight, and inly grieved.The sight of aged Nestor startled them,And thus the royal Agamemnon spake:—

“Neleian Nestor, glory of the Greeks,Why hast thou left the murderous fray, and whyCome hither? Much I fear the fiery chief,Hector, will make the menace good which onceHe uttered, speaking to the men of Troy—Not to return to Ilium from the fleetTill he had burned our ships with fire, and slainUs also; thus he spake, and now fulfilsHis menace. O ye gods! The other Greeks,And not Achilles only, cherish hateAgainst me in their hearts, and now refuseTo combat even where our galleys lie.”

And Nestor, the Gerenian knight, replied:—“Thus is the threat accomplished, nor can JoveThe Thunderer reverse the event. The wallIn which we trusted as impregnable,Our fleet’s defence and ours, is overthrown;But obstinately still the Greeks maintainThe combat at the ships, nor couldst thou nowDistinguish with thy sharpest sight where mostThe ranks are routed, so confusedlyThey fall, and the wild uproar reaches heaven.Meantime consult we what may yet be done,If counsel aught avail; yet can I notAdvise to mingle in the strife again.It is not meet that wounded men should fight.”

And then the royal Agamemnon said:—“Since at our ships, beneath their very sterns,The combat rages; since the wall we builtAvails not, nor the trench, at which the GreeksLabored and suffered, hoping it might beA sure defence for us and for our fleet,Certain it is that to Almighty JoveIt hath seemed good that here the Greeks, afarFrom Argos, should be shamefully cut off;For well was I aware when he designedTo aid the Greeks, and well can I perceiveThat he is honoring now the men of TroyLike to the blessed gods, and fetteringOur valor and our hands. Hear my advice,And follow it. Let us draw down the shipsNearest the sea, and launch them on the deep,And moor them, anchored, till the lonely nightShall come, when, if the Trojans pause from war,Haply we may draw down the other barques;For he who flees from danger, even by night,Deserves no blame; and better is his fateWho flees from harm than his whom harm o’ertakes.”

Then wise Ulysses, with stern look, replied:—“What words, Atrides, have escaped thy lips?Unhappy man, thou shouldst have held commandO’er some effeminate army, and not ours—Ours to whom Jupiter, from youth to age,Hath granted to accomplish difficult wars,Until we pass away. And wouldst thou thenDepart from Troy, the city of broad streets,For which we have endured so much and long?Nay, be thou silent, lest the other GreeksHear words that never should be said by oneWho knows to speak with wisdom, and who bearsThe sceptre, and who rules so many GreeksAs thou dost. I contemn with my whole soulThe counsel thou hast given, commanding us,While yet the battle rages, to draw downOur good ships to the sea, that so the foeMay see his wish more easily fulfilled,Even in the hour of triumph, and our fateBe certain ruin; for the Greeks no moreWill combat when they draw their galleys down,But, looking backward to the shore, will leaveThe battle there; and thus, O king of men!Will mischief flow from what thou counsellest.”

And Agamemnon, king of men, rejoined:—“Thou touchest me, Ulysses, to the heartWith thy harsh censure; yet I did not giveCommand to drag our good ships to the sea,Against the will of the Greeks. And would there wereSome other, young or old, to counsel themMore prudently, for that would please me well.”

Then spake the great in battle, Diomed:—“The man is here, nor have ye far to lookIf ye will be persuaded, and refrainTo blame me angrily, because my yearsAre fewest midst you all. I too can boastOf noble birth; my father, Tydeus, liesBuried beneath a mound of earth at Thebes.To Portheus three illustrious sons were born,Who dwelt in Pleuron, and in CalydonThe lofty—Agrius, Melas, and the knight,My father’s father, Oeneus, eminentAmong the rest for valor; he remainedAt home, but, wandering thence, my father wentTo Argos, for the will of Jove was such—Jove and the other gods. He wedded thereA daughter of Adrastus, and he dweltWithin a mansion filled with wealth; broad fieldsFertile in corn were his, and many rowsOf trees and vines around him; large his flocks,And great his fame as one expert to wield,Beyond all other Greeks, the spear in war.This should ye know, for this is true; nor yetContemn my counsel given with careful thoughtAnd for your good, nor deem it comes from oneUnwarlike and low-born. Now let us joinThe battle, wounded as we are, for muchIt needs our presence, keeping carefullyBeyond the reach of weapons, to avoidWound upon wound, and, cheering on the rest,Send back into the combat those who standApart, indulgent to their weariness.”

He spake: they hearkened, and with hasty stepsWent on, King Agamemnon at their head.

Nor was the glorious power that shakes the earthUnmindful of his charge. He went amongThe warriors in the semblance of a manStricken in years, and, seizing the right handOf Agamemnon, spake these wingèd words:—

“O son of Atreus, the revengeful heartOf Peleus’ son must leap within his breastFor joy, to see the slaughter and the routOf the Achaians, since with him there dwellsNo touch of pity. May he perish too,Like us, and may some god o’erwhelm his nameWith infamy. With thee the blessed godsAre not so far incensed, and thou shalt seeThe Trojan chiefs and princes of their hostRaising the dust-clouds on the spacious plainIn fleeing from our ships and tents to Troy.”

He spake, and, shouting, strode across the field.As loud a cry as from nine thousand men,Or from ten thousand hurrying to engageIn battle, such the cry that ocean’s kingUttered from his deep lungs. It woke anewInvincible resolve in every heartAmong the Greeks to combat to the end.

Now, Juno of the golden throne beheldAs, standing on the Olympian height, she castDownward her eyes to where her brother moved,Bearing his part with glory in the fray;And inly she rejoiced. She also sawJove on the peak of Ida, down whose sideGlide many brooks, and greatly was displeased.Then the majestic goddess with large eyesMused how to occupy the mind of himWho bears the aegis. This at length seemed best:To deck herself in fair array, and hasteTo Ida, that the God might haply yieldTo amorous desire, and in that hourHer hand might pour into his lids, and o’erHis watchful mind, a soft and pleasant sleep.She went to her own chamber, which her sonVulcan had framed, with massive portals madeFast to the lintels by a secret bolt,Which none but she could draw. She entered inAnd closed the shining doors; and first she tookAmbrosial water, washing every stainFrom her fair limbs, and smoothed them with rich oil,Ambrosial, soft, and fragrant, which, when touchedWithin Jove’s brazen halls, perfumed the airOf earth and heaven. When thus her shapely formHad been anointed, and her hands had combedHer tresses, she arranged the lustrous curls,Ambrosial, beautiful, that clustering hungRound her immortal brow. And next she threwAround her an ambrosial robe, the workOf Pallas, all its web embroidered o’erWith forms of rare device. She fastened itOver the breast with clasps of gold, and thenShe passed about her waist a zone which boreFringes an hundred-fold, and in her earsShe hung her three-gemmed ear-rings, from whose gleamShe won an added grace. Around her headThe glorious goddess drew a flowing veil,Just from the loom, and shining like the sun;And, last, beneath her bright white feet she boundThe shapely sandals. Gloriously arrayedIn all her ornaments, she left her bower,And calling Venus to herself, apartFrom all the other gods, addressed her thus:—

“Wilt thou, dear child, comply with what I ask?Or, angered that I aid the Greeks, while thouDost favor Troy, wilt thou deny my suit?”

And thus Jove’s daughter, Venus, made reply:—“O Juno, whom I reverence, speak thy thought,Daughter of mighty Saturn! For my heartCommands me to obey thy wish in allThat I can do, and all that can be done.”

And thus imperial Juno, planning guile,Rejoined: “Give me the charm and the desireWith which thou overcomest gods and men.I go to the far end of this green earth,To visit Ocean, father of the gods,And Mother Tethys, who, receiving meFrom Rhea, cherished me, and brought me upIn their abodes, when Jove the ThundererCast Saturn down to lie beneath the earthAnd barren sea. I go to visit them,And end their hateful quarrel. For too longHave they been strangers to the marriage-bed.But if my words persuade them, and bring backTheir hearts to their old love, my name will beHonored by them, and dear throughout all time.”

And laughter-loving Venus answered thus:—“What thou desirest should not be denied,And shall not, for thou sleepest in the armsOf Jupiter, the mightiest of the gods.”

She spake, and from her bosom drew the zone,Embroidered, many-colored, and instinctWith every winning charm—with love, desire,Dalliance, and gentle speech—that stealthilyO’ercomes the purpose of the wisest mind,And, placing it in Juno’s hands, she said:—

“This many-colored zone, and all that dwellsWithin it, take, and in thy bosom hide,And thou, I deem, wilt not return and leaveThy purpose unfulfilled.” As thus she spake,The large-eyed stately Juno smiled and took,And, smiling, in her bosom placed the zone,While Venus, daughter of the Thunderer,Went to the palace. Juno took her wayFrom high Olympus o’er Pieria’s realmAnd rich Emathia, o’er equestrian Thrace,With snowy peaks exceeding high; her feetTouched not the ground. From Athos suddenlyShe stooped upon the tossing deep, and cameTo Lemnos, seat of Thoas the divine.And there she met Death’s brother, Sleep, and tookHis hand in hers, and thus accosted him:—

“O Sleep, whose sway is over all the godsAnd all mankind, if ever thou didst heedMy supplication, hearken to me now,And I shall be forever grateful. CloseThe glorious eyes of Jove beneath his lidsMidst our embracings, and for thy rewardThou shalt possess a sumptuous throne of goldImperishable. Vulcan, my lame son,Shall forge it for thee, and adorn its sides,And place below a footstool, upon whichThy shining feet shall rest in banqueting.”

Then gentle Sleep made answer, speaking thus:—“Great Saturn’s daughter, Juno the august,On any other of the deathless godsCould I bring slumber—even on the tidesOf the swift Ocean, parent of them all;Yet may I not approach Saturnian JoveIf he command me not. Already onceHe made me quail with fright before his threats,When his magnanimous son, Alcides, sailedFrom Troy, which he had ravaged. Then I lulledThe senses of the Aegis-bearer, Jove,Wrapping myself around him, while thy mindWas planning mischiefs for his son, and thouDidst wake the blasts of all the bitter windsTo sweep the ocean, and to bear awayThe hero on its billows from his friendsTo populous Cos. When Jupiter awokeHis anger rose; he seized and flung the godsHither and thither; me he chiefly sought,And would have cast me to destruction, downFrom the great heavens into the deep, if Night,Whose power o’ercomes the might of gods and men,Had not preserved me, fleeing to her shade.So Jove refrained, indignant as he was,For much he feared to offend the swift-paced Night.And now thou bid’st me tempt my fate again.”

Imperial, large-eyed Juno thus rejoined:—“Why rise such thoughts, O Sleep, within thy heart?Deem’st thou that Jove the Thunderer favors TroyAs much as he was angered for the sakeOf Hercules, his son? Do what I ask,And thou shalt have from me a wedded spouse.One of the younger Graces shall be thine—Pasithea, whom thou hast desired so long.”

She spake, and Sleep, delighted, answered thus:—“Swear now to me, O goddess, by the Styx,The inviolable river. Lay one handUpon the food-producing earth, and placeThe other on the glimmering sea, that allThe gods below, round Saturn, may attestThy promise—that thou wilt bestow on meOne of the younger Graces for my bride—Pasithea, whom I have desired so long.”

He spake, and white-armed Juno willinglyComplied; she took the oath, and called on allThe gods who dwell in Tartarus below,And bear the name of Titans. When the oathWas taken, and the accustomed rites performed,From Lemnos and from Imbrus forth they went,Shrouded in mist; and swiftly moving onToward Ida, seamed with rivulets and nurseOf savage beasts, they came to Lectos first,And there they left the sea. Their way was nowOver the land, and underneath their feetThe forest summits shook. Sleep halted thereEre yet the eye of Jupiter descriedHis coming, and upon a lofty fir,The tallest growing on the Idaean mount,High in the air among the clouds of heaven,Springing from earth, he took his perch withinThe screen of branches, like the shrill-voiced bird,Called Chalcis by the immortals, and by menCymindis, haunting the high mountain-side.

And Juno hastened on to Gargarus,The peak of lofty Ida. Jupiter,The Cloud-compeller, saw her, and at onceLove took possession of his mighty heart,As when they first were wedded, and withdrewFrom their dear parents’ sight. The God drew nearAnd stood before her, and addressed her thus:—

“Why art thou hastening from Olympus thus,And whither; yet without thy steeds and car?”

And Juno answered with dissembled guile:—“To the far ends of the green earth I go,To visit Ocean, father of the gods,And Mother Tethys, in whose palace hallsThey nourished me, and brought me up. I goTo end their hateful quarrels, for too longHave they been strangers to the marriage-bed,Incensed against each other. Now my steeds,Waiting to bear me over land and sea,Stand at the foot of Ida seamed with rills,And now I come to thee, lest thou perchanceBe wroth if I unknown to thee repairTo where old Ocean dwells amid his deeps.”

The Cloud-compeller, Jupiter, rejoined:—“Hereafter, Juno, there will be a timeFor such a journey; meantime let us giveThis hour to rest and dalliance. Never yetDid love of goddess or of mortal maidPossess and overcome my heart as now;Not even when I loved Ixion’s dame,Who bore Pirithoüs, prudent as a godAmong the counsellors; nor when I lovedAcrisius’ daughter with the dainty feet,Danae, who brought forth Perseus, eminentAbove the other warrior-chiefs; nor whenI carried off from Phoenix the renownedHis daughter, who bore Minos afterward,And Rhadamanthus. Never so I lovedSemele, nor Alcmena who in ThebesBrought forth to me the great-souled Hercules,My valiant son, while Bacchus, the delightOf men, was born of Semele; nor yetSo loved I Ceres, fair-haired queen, nor yetLatona, gloriously beautiful,Nor even thee, as now I love, and yieldMy spirit to the sweetness of desire.”

Imperial Juno artfully replied:—“Importunate Saturnius, what is thisThat thou hast said? If on this summit heightOf Ida we recline, where all aroundIs open to the sight, how will it beShould any of the ever-living godsBehold us sleeping, and to all the restDeclare it? I could never, rising thence,Enter again thy palace, save with shame.Yet if thou truly speakest thy desire,Thou hast a marriage-chamber of thine own,Which Vulcan, thy beloved son, for theeFramed, fitting to its posts the solid doors;And thither let us go to take our restWithin it, since thou hast declared thy will.”

Then spake again the Cloud-compeller Jove:—“O Juno! Fear thou not that any godOr man will look upon us. I shall throwA golden cloud around us, which the SunHimself cannot look through, although his eyeIs piercing, far beyond all other eyes.”

The son of Saturn spake, and took his wifeInto his arms, while underneath the pairThe sacred Earth threw up her freshest herbs—The dewy lotus, and the crocus-flower,And thick and soft the hyacinth. All theseUpbore them from the ground. Upon this couchThey lay, while o’er them a bright golden cloudGathered, and shed its drops of glistening dew.

So slumbered on the heights of GargarusThe All-Father, overcome by sleep and love,And held his consort in his arms. MeanwhileThe gentle Sleep made haste to seek the fleetOf Greece. He bore a message to the godNeptune, who shakes the shores, and, drawing near,He thus accosted him with wingèd words:—

“Now, Neptune, give the Greeks thy earnest aid,And though it be but for a little space,While Jupiter yet slumbers, let them winThe glory of the day; for I have wraptHis senses in a gentle lethargy,To which he is betrayed by Juno’s wiles.”

He spake, and took his way, departing thenceAmong the tribes of men. These words inflamedThe god’s desire to aid the Greeks; he sprangFar on among the foremost, and exclaimed:—

“O Greeks! Do ye again submit to yieldThe victory to Hector, Priam’s son.That he may seize our fleet and bear awayThe glory of the day? This is his hope,And this his boast, since now Achilles liesInactive at his ships, in sullen wrath.Yet little should we need him, if the restStood bravely by each other. Hear me now,And do what I advise. Let all of us,The best and bravest, bearing shields, and cappedWith glittering helms, and wielding in our handsThe longest spears, advance, and I will leadThe charge; nor do I think that Hector, sonOf Priam, daring as he seems, will yetAbide our onset. Who so has the heartTo make a stand with me, and yet who bearsA narrow shield, let it be given to oneLess warlike, and a broader shield be found.”

He spake; they hearkened and obeyed. The kingsTydides, and Ulysses, and the sonOf Atreus, Agamemnon, though their woundsStill galled them, marshalled and reviewed the ranks,And changed their arms; they made the braver wearThe better armor, and the worse they gaveTo the less warlike. Now, when o’er their breastsThe burnished mail was girded, they beganTheir march; the great earth-shaker, Neptune, ledThe onset, grasping in his sinewy handA sword of fearful length and flashing blade,Like lightning. No man dared encounter itIn combat; every arm was stayed by fear.

Right opposite, illustrious Hector rangedHis Trojans. Dark-haired Neptune and the sonOf Priam now engaged in desperate strife,One on the side of Troy, and one for Greece.The sea swelled upward toward the Grecian tentsAnd fleet, while both the armies flung themselvesAgainst each other with a loud uproar.Not with such noise the ocean-billows lashThe mainland, when the violent north windTumbles them shoreward; not with such a noiseRoar the fierce flames within the mountain glen,When leaping upward to consume the trees;And not so loudly howls the hurricaneAmong the lofty branches of the oaksWhen in its greatest fury, as now roseThe din of battle from the hosts that rushedAgainst each other with terrific cries.

At Ajax glorious Hector cast his spear,As face to face they stood. It missed him not,But struck him where two belts upon his breastO’erlapped each other—that which held the shieldAnd that which bore the silver-studded sword.These saved the tender muscles. Hector, vexedThat thus his weapon should have flown in vain,Retreated toward his comrades, shunning death.As he drew back, the Telamonian hurledA stone—for stones in multitude, that proppedThe galleys, lay around, and rolled amongThe feet of those who struggled. One of theseHe lifted, smiting Hector on the breast,Above the buckler’s orb and near the neck.He sent it spinning like a top; it fellAnd whirled along the ground. As when beneathThe stroke of Father Jupiter an oakFalls broken at the root, and from it fumesA stifling smell of sulphur, and the heartOf him who stands and sees it sinks with dread—For fearful is the bolt of mighty Jove—So dropped the valiant Hector to the earthAmid the dust; his hand let fall the spear;His shield and helm fell with him, and his mailOf shining brass clashed round him. Then the GreeksRushed toward him, yelling fiercely, for they hopedTo drag him thence; and many a lance they cast;But none by javelin or by thrust could woundThe shepherd of the people, for there cameAround him all the bravest of his host—Polydamas, Aeneas, and the greatAgenor, and Sarpedon, he who ledThe Lycian bands, and Glaucus the renowned;These flung themselves into the strife, while noneOf all the rest refrained, but firmly heldTheir broad round shields before him. Then his friendsLifted him in their arms, and bore him off,Out of the conflict, to his fiery steedsThat waited for him in the battle’s rear,With charioteer and sumptuous car; and theseBore him to Ilium, sorely suffering.

But when they now had reached the crossing-placeOf Xanthus, full of eddies, pleasant stream,The progeny of ever-living Jove,They lifted out the hero from the car,And laid him on the ground, and on him pouredWater, at which his breath and sight returned.He sat upon his knees, and from his throatGave forth the purple blood, and then he fellBack to the ground, and darkness veiled his eyes,For still his senses felt the stunning blow.

The Greeks saw Hector leave the field, and pressedThe foe more hotly, and bethought themselvesOf their old valor. Then the swift of foot,Oilean Ajax, darted to the van,And with his fir-tree spear smote Satnius, sonOf Enops, whom a Naiad eminentFor beauty among all the nymphs brought forthTo Enops, when on Satnio’s banks he keptHis flocks. Oileus’ son, expert to wieldThe spear, drew near, and pierced him in the flank.Prostrate he fell, and suddenly the GreeksAnd Trojans gathered round in desperate fray.Polydamas, the mighty spearman, sonOf Panthoüs, coming to avenge him, smoteOn the right shoulder Prothoenor, sonOf Areilochus. The pitiless spearPassed through, and falling in the dust he graspedThe earth with dying hands. PolydamasShouted aloud, exulting over him:—

“Not vainly, as I think, hath flown the spearFrom the strong hand of the magnanimous sonOf Panthoüs. Some Achaian hath receivedThe weapon in his side, to lean uponIn going down to Pluto’s dim abode.”

He spake; the Achaians chafed to hear his boast,And most the warlike son of Telamon;For the slain Greek fell near him. Instantly,Just as the Trojan moved away, he hurledHis shining lance. Polydamas, to escapeThe death-stroke, sprang aside. Archilochus,Antenor’s son, received the blow: the godsHad doomed him to be slain. It pierced the spineWhere the head joins the neck, and severed thereThe tendons on each side. His head and mouthAnd nostrils struck the ground before his knees.

And thus to excellent PolydamasDid Ajax shout in turn: “Bethink thee now,And tell me truly, was not this a manWorthy to die for Prothoenor’s sake?No man of mean repute or meanly bornHe seems, but either brother to the knightAntenor, or his son; for certainlyHis looks declare him of Antenor’s race.”

He spake; but well he knew the slain. MeanwhileThe Trojans heard and grieved. Then Acamas,Stalking around his fallen brother, slewPromachus, the Boeotian, with his spear,While dragging off the dead man by the feet.

Then o’er the fallen warrior, AcamasBoasted aloud: “O measureless in threats!Bowmen of Argos! Not to us aloneShall woe and mourning come; ye also yetWill perish. See your Promachus o’erthrown,And by my spear, that so my brother’s deathMay not be unrequited. Every manShould wish a brother left to avenge his fall.”

He ended, and the Greeks were vexed to hearHis boast; the brave Peneleus most of allWas angered, and he rushed on Acamas,Who waited not the onset of the king,And in his stead was Ilioneus slain,The son of Phorbas, who was rich in flocks,Whom Mercury, of all the sons of Troy,Loved most, and gave him ample wealth; his wifeBrought Ilioneus forth, and only him;And him Peneleus smote beneath the browIn the eye’s socket, forcing out the ball;The spear passed through, and reappeared behind.Down sat the wounded man with arms outstretched,While, drawing his sharp sword, Peneleus smoteThe middle of his neck, and lopped awayThe helmèd head, which fell upon the ground,The spear still in the eye. He lifted itAs one would lift a poppy up, and thusHe shouted, boasting, to the Trojan host:—

“Go now, ye Trojans, and inform from meThe father and the mother of the slainThat they may mourn within their palace wallsIllustrious Ilioneus. After thisShall the sad wife of Promachus, the sonOf Alegenor, never hasten forthTo meet her husband with glad looks, when weThe Greeks return from Ilium with our fleet.”

He spake; the Trojans all grew pale with fear,And gazed around for an escape from death.

Say, Muses, ye who on the Olympian heightInhabit, who was first among the GreeksTo gather bloody spoil, when now the powerThat shakes the shores had turned the tide of war.

First, Ajax, son of Telamon, struck downHyrtius, the leader of the Mysian band,And son of Gyrtias, while AntilochusSpoiled Mermerus and Phalces. Morys next,Slain by the weapon of Meriones,Fell with Hippotion. Teucer overthrewProthous and Periphoetes. Atreus’ sonSmote Hyperenor, prince among his tribe,Upon the flank; the trenchant weapon drankThe entrails, and the soul, driven forth, escapedThrough the deep wound, and darkness veiled his eyes.But Ajax swift of foot, Oileus’ son,O’erthrew the most, for none could equal himIn swift pursuit when Jove ordained a flight.