He spake, and flung his brandished spear; it smote The round shield of Priamides; right through The shining buckler went the rapid steel, And, cutting the soft tunic near the flank, Stood fixed in the fair corselet. Paris bent Sideways before it and escaped his death. Atrides drew his silver studded sword, Lifted it high and smote his enemy’s crest. The weapon, shattered to four fragments, fell. He looked to the broad heaven, and thus exclaimed:⁠—

“O Father Jove! Thou art of all the gods The most unfriendly. I had hoped to avenge The wrong by Paris done me, but my sword Is broken in my grasp, and from my hand The spear was vainly flung and gave no wound.”