When Agamemnon, king of men, beheld The dark blood flowing from his brother’s wound, He shuddered. Menelaus, great in war, Felt the like horror; yet, when he perceived That still the arrow, neck and barb, remained Without the mail, the courage rose again That filled his bosom. Agamemnon, then, The monarch, sighing deeply, took the hand Of Menelaus⁠—while his comrades round Like him lamented⁠—sighing as he spake:⁠—