Phereclus, Son of Harmonius, the artificer, Who knew to shape all works of rare device, For Pallas loved him. It was he who built The fleet for Paris—cause of many woes To all the Trojans and to him—for ill He understood the oracles of heaven. Him did Meriones, pursuing long, O’ertake, and, smiting him on the right hip, Pierced through the part beneath the bone and near The bladder. On his knees with sad lament so He fell, and death involved him in its shade.
And then by Meges was Pedseus slain, Antenor’s base-born son, whose noble wife, Theano, reared him with as fond a care As her own children, for her husband’s sake. And now the mighty spearman, Phyleus’ son, Drew near and smote him with his trenchant lance Where meet the head and spine, and pierced the neck Beneath the tongue; and forth the weapon came Between the teeth. He fell, and in the fall Gnashed with his teeth upon the cold bright blade.
Then did Evaemon’s son Eurypylus Strike down Hypsenor, nobly born, the son Of great Dolopion, Scamander’s priest, Whom all the people honored as a god. Evaemon’s gallant son, o’ertaking him In flight; with one stroke of his falchion hewed His brawny arm away. The bloody limb Dropped to the ground, and the dark night of death Came o’er his eyes: so cruel fate decreed.
Thus toiled the heroes in that stubborn fight. Nor would you now have known to which array— Trojan or Greek—Tydides might belong; For through the field he rushed with furious speed, Like a swollen river when its current takes The torrent’s swiftness, scattering with a sweep The bridges; nor can massive dikes withstand Its fury, nor embankments raised to screen The grassy meadows, while the rains of Jove Fall heavily, and harvests, late the joy Of toiling youth, are beaten to the ground. Thus by Tydides the close phalanxes Of Troy were scattered, nor could they endure, All numerous as they were, his strong assault. As Pandarus, Lycaon’s eminent son, Beheld Tydides rush athwart the field, Breaking