him with his sword at the mid-neck, And cut the tendons both; the severed head, While yet he spake, fell, rolling in the dust. And then they took his helm of otter-skin The wolf’s-hide, sounding bow, and massive spear. The nobly born Ulysses in his hand Lifted the trophies high, devoting them To Pallas, deity of spoil, and prayed:—
“Delight thyself, O goddess, in these arms, For thee we first invoke, of all the gods Upon Olympus. Guide us now to find The camp and coursers of the sons of Thrace.”
He spake; and, raising them aloft, he hung The spoils upon a tamarisk, and brake Reeds and the spreading branches of the tree To form a mark, that so on their return They might not, in the darkness, miss the spot. Then onward, mid strewn arms and pools of blood, They went, and soon were where the Thracians lay. There slept the warriors, overpowered with toil; Their glittering arms were near them, fairly ranged In triple rows, and by each suit of arms Two coursers. Rhesus slumbered in the midst. Near him were his fleet horses, which were made Fast to the chariot’s border by the reins. Ulysses saw them first, and, pointing, said:—