Lycurgus slew him, but by stratagem, And not by strength; he from a narrow way, Where was no room to wield the iron mace, Through Areïthoüs thrust the spear: he fell Backward; the victor took his arms, which Mars The war-god gave, and which in after-time Lycurgus wore on many a battle-field. And when within his palace he grew old, He gave them to be worn by one he loved⁠— To Ereuthalion, who attended him In battle, and who, wearing them, defied The bravest of our host. All trembled; all Held back in fear, nor dared encounter him. But me a daring trust in my own strength Impelled to meet him. I was youngest then Of all the chiefs; I fought, and Pallas gave The victory over him, and thus I slew The hugest and most strong of men; he lay Extended in vast bulk upon the ground. Would I were young as then, my frame unworn By years! And Hector of the beamy helm Should meet an adversary soon; but now No one of all the chieftains here, renowned To be the bravest of the Achaian race,