“High-born Ulysses, man of subtle shifts, Son of Laertes, whither dost thou flee? Why like a coward turn thy back? Beware, Lest there some weapon smite thee. Stay and guard This aged warrior from his furious foe.”
So spake he; but the much-enduring man, Ulysses, heard not the reproof, and passed Rapidly toward the hollow ships of Greece. Tydides, single-handed, made his way Among the foremost warriors, till he stood Before the horses of the aged son Of Neleus, and in wingèd accents said:—
“The younger warriors press thee sore, old chief! Thy strength gives way; the weariness of age Is on thee; thy attendant is not strong; Thy steeds are slow. Mount, then, my car, and see What Trojan horses are; how rapidly They turn to right and left, and chase and flee. I took them from the terror of the field, Aeneas. To our servants leave thine own, While we with these assault the Trojan knights, And teach even Hector that the spear I wield Can make as furious havoc as his own.”
He spake; and Nestor, the Gerenian knight, Complied. The two attendants, valiant men— Sthenelus and the good Eurymedon— Took charge of Nestor’s steeds. The chieftains climbed The car of Diomed, and Nestor took Into his hand the embroidered reins and lashed The horses with the scourge. They quickly came To Hector. As the Trojan hastened on, The son of Tydeus hurled a spear; it missed, But spared not Eniopeus, him who held The reins, the hero’s charioteer, and son Of brave Thebaeus. In the breast between The paps it smote him; from the car he fell, And the swift horses started back; his soul And strength passed from him. Hector bitterly Grieved for his death, yet left him where he fell, And sought another fitting charioteer. Nor had the fiery coursers long to wait A guide, for valiant Archeptolemus, The son of Iphitus, was near at hand. And him he caused to mount the chariot drawn By his fleet steeds, and gave his hand the reins.