into fury, is as great As that which these distinguished spearmen, sons Of Panthoüs, utter with their lips. And yet The horseman Hyperenor did not long Enjoy his youth when he with insolent words Assailed me, and withstood me—when he said That I was the most craven wretch who bore Arms in the Grecian host. He never turned, I think, his footsteps homeward to delight His reverend parents and beloved wife; And I, like his, will take thy life, if thou Oppose me. Heed my counsel, and withdraw Among the crowd, and so avoid my stroke Before thou come to harm. He is a fool Who only sees the mischiefs that are past.”
He said: Euphorbus, heeding not his words Of warning, spake again: “Now is my time, Jove-nurtured Menelaus, to avenge My brother, slain by thee, and over whom Thou utteredst such swelling words, whose wife In her new bridal chamber thou hast made A widow, and upon her parents brought Mourning and endless sorrow. It may make The sorrow less, should I into the hands Of Panthoüs and the noble Phrontis give Thy head and armor. Let us now delay The strife no longer: it will show with whom The valor dwells, and who is moved by fear.”
He spake, and smote his enemy’s round shield, But pierced it not; the stubborn metal turned The weapon’s point. Then Menelaus, son Of Atreus, with a prayer to Jupiter, Struck, as Euphorbus made a backward step, His throat, and drave the weapon with strong hand Through the soft neck. He fell with clashing arms. His locks, which were like those the Graces wear, And ringlets, bound with gold and silver bands, Were drenched with blood. As when some husbandman Rears in a lonely and well-watered spot An olive-tree with widely spreading boughs, Beautiful with fresh shoots, and putting forth White blossoms, gently waved by every wind, A sudden blast descends with mighty sweep And tears it from its bed, and lays it prone Upon the earth—so lay Euphorbus, skilled To wield the spear and son of Panthoüs, slain And spoiled by Menelaus, Atreus’ son. As when a lion of the mountain wilds, Fearless