Cast his sharp spear at Ajax through the crowd. The weapon struck him not, but pierced the groin Of one who was Ulysses’ faithful friend⁠— Leucus⁠—as from the spot he dragged the dead; He fell, the body dropping from his hold. Ulysses, stung with fury at his fall, Rushed to the van, arrayed in shining brass, Drew near the foe, and, casting a quick glance Around him, hurled his glittering spear. The host Of Trojans, as it left his hand, shrank back Upon each other. Not in vain it flew, But struck Democoön, the spurious son Of Priam, who, to join the war, had left Abydos, where he tended the swift mares. Ulysses, to revenge his comrade’s death, Smote him upon the temple with his spear. Through both the temples passed the brazen point, And darkness gathered o’er his eyes; he fell, His armor clashing round him with his fall. Then did the foremost bands, and Hector’s self, Fall back. The Argives shouted, dragging off The slain, and rushing to the ground they won. Then was Apollo angered, looking down From Pergamus, and thus he called aloud:⁠—