down: the coursers’ trampling feet Raised the thick dust to shadow all the plain; While Agamemnon cheered the Achaians on, And chased and slew the foe. As when a fire Seizes a thick-grown forest, and the wind Drives it along in eddies, while the trunks Fall with the boughs amid devouring flames, So fell the flying Trojans by the hand Of Agamemnon. Many high-maned steeds Dragged noisily their empty cars among The ranks of battle, never more to bear Their charioteers, who lay upon the earth The vulture’s feast, a sorrow to their wives.
But Jove beyond the encountering arms, the dust, The carnage, and the bloodshed and the din Bore Hector, while Atrides in pursuit Was loudly cheering the Achaians on. Meantime the Trojans fled across the plain Toward the wild fig-tree growing near the tomb Of ancient Ilus, son of Dardanus— Eager to reach the town; and still the son Of Atreus followed, shouting, and with hands Blood-stained and dust-begrimed. And when they reached The Scaean portals and the beechen tree, They halted, waiting for the rear, like beeves Chased panting by a lion who has come At midnight on them, and has put