Then o’er the fallen warrior, Acamas Boasted aloud: “O measureless in threats! Bowmen of Argos! Not to us alone Shall woe and mourning come; ye also yet Will perish. See your Promachus o’erthrown, And by my spear, that so my brother’s death May not be unrequited. Every man Should wish a brother left to avenge his fall.”
He ended, and the Greeks were vexed to hear His boast; the brave Peneleus most of all Was angered, and he rushed on Acamas, Who waited not the onset of the king, And in his stead was Ilioneus slain, The son of Phorbas, who was rich in flocks, Whom Mercury, of all the sons of Troy, Loved most, and gave him ample wealth; his wife Brought Ilioneus forth, and only him; And him Peneleus smote beneath the brow In the eye’s socket, forcing out the ball; The spear passed through, and reappeared behind. Down sat the wounded man with arms outstretched, While, drawing his sharp sword, Peneleus smote The middle of his neck, and lopped away The helmèd head, which fell upon the ground, The spear still in the eye. He lifted it As one would lift a poppy up, and thus He shouted, boasting, to the Trojan host:—
“Go now, ye Trojans, and inform from me The father and the mother of the slain That they may mourn within their palace walls Illustrious Ilioneus. After this Shall the sad wife of Promachus, the son Of Alegenor, never hasten forth To meet her husband with glad looks, when we The Greeks return from Ilium with our fleet.”
He spake; the Trojans all grew pale with fear, And gazed around for an escape from death.
Say, Muses, ye who on the Olympian height Inhabit, who was first among the Greeks To gather bloody spoil, when now the power That shakes the shores had turned the tide of war.