“Keep not the steeds thou guidest far from me, Alcimedon, but let them ever breathe Upon my shoulders. Hector, Priam’s son, I think, will not give over this assault Before he either slays us, and ascends The car to which these steeds with flowing manes Are yoked, and puts to flight the phalanxes Of Argive warriors, or himself is slain.”
He spake, and called to both the Ajaxes And Menelaus: “Ye who lead the Greeks,” He said, and named the chieftains, “give in charge The dead to your best warriors, to surround And guard the corpse, and drive away the foe; But hasten to avert the evil day From us who are alive. For even now Hector comes rushing through the deadly fight, And brings Aeneas; these are the most brave Of all the Trojan army. On the knees Of the great gods the issue rests. I too Will cast the spear, and leave the rest to Jove.”
He spake, and lifting his huge spear he smote The round shield of Aretus. There the blade Stopped not, but, entering, pierced him through the belt. As, when a vigorous youth with a keen axe Strikes a wild bull behind the horns, and there Severs the sinews, forward leaps the beast And falls—Aretus, springing forward thus, Fell headlong. In the Trojan’s entrails still Quivered the spear, and life forsook his limbs.
Then Hector aimed, to smite Automedon, His shining spear. The Greek beheld and stooped, And shunned the brazen weapon. Down it came, And plunged into the earth, and stood, its stem Still shaken with the blow, and spent its force. Now would the twain have turned, and hand to hand Fought with their swords, when suddenly came up The warriors Ajax, hastening, at the call Of their companion, through the crowd, and stayed The combat. Hector and Aeneas then, And Chromius, of the godlike form, withdrew Through caution, leaving on the battle-field Aretus lying mangled. The fierce chief Automedon despoiled the dead, and spake Boastfully: “Somewhat lighter on my heart Lies now my grief for Menoetiades, Though I have slain a man of meaner note.”