“Where is thy bow, O Pandarus, and where Thy wingèd arrows? Where the old renown In which no warrior here can vie with thee, And none upon the Lycian shore can boast That he excels thee? Hasten, and lift up Thy hands in prayer to Jupiter, and send An arrow at this man, whoe’er he be, Who thus prevails, and thus afflicts our host, And makes the knees of many a strong man weak. Strike him—unless he be some god incensed At Troy for sacrifice withheld, since hard It is to bear the anger of a god.”
Lycaon’s son, the far-renowned, replied:— “Aeneas, leader of the Trojans mailed In brass, to me this man in all things seems Like warlike Diomed. I know his shield, High helm, and steeds, and yet I may not say That this is not a god. But if he be The chief of whom I speak, the warlike son Of Tydeus, not thus madly would he fight, Without some god to aid him. By his side Is one of the immortals, with a cloud About his shoulders, turning from its aim The swiftly flying arrow. ’Twas but late I aimed a shaft that pierced the hollow mail On his left shoulder, and I thought him sent To Pluto, but I slew him not. Some god Must be offended with me. I have here No steeds or car to mount. Far off at home There stand within Lycaon’s palace-walls Eleven chariots, fair and fresh and new: Each has an ample cover, and by each Are horses yoked in pairs, that champ their oats And their white barley. When I left my home, Lycaon, aged warrior, counselled me, Within his sumptuous halls, that with my steeds And chariot I should lead the sons of Troy In the fierce battle. I obeyed him not: Far better if I had. I wished to spare My horses, lest, so largely fed at home, They might want food in the beleaguered town. So, leaving them, I came on foot to Troy, Confiding in my bow, which yet was doomed To avail me little, for already I Have smitten with my arrows the two chiefs, Tydides and Atrides, and from both Drew the red blood, but only made their rage To flame the fiercer. In an evil hour I took my bow and quiver from the wall And came to lead the Trojans for the sake Of Hector. But if ever I return To see my native country and my wife And my tall spacious mansion, may some foe Strike off my head if with these hands I fail To break my bow in pieces, casting it Into the flames, a useless weapon now.”