Deucalion, thrusting through his arm The brazen javelin, where the sinews met That strung the elbow. While with powerless arm The wounded Trojan stood awaiting death, Achilles drave his falchion through his neck. Far flew the head and helm, the marrow flowed From out the spine, and stretched upon the ground Deucalion lay. Pelides still went on, O’ertaking Rigmus, the renowned son Of Peireus, from the fruitful fields of Thrace, And smote him in the stomach with his lance. There hung the weapon fixed; the wounded man Fell from the car. At Areïthoüs The charioteer, who turned his steeds to flee, Achilles sent his murderous lance, and pierced His back, and dashed him from the car, and left His horses wild with fright. As when, among The deep dells of an arid mountain-side, A great fire burns its way, and the thick wood Before it is consumed, and shifting winds Hither and thither sweep the flames, so ranged Achilles in his fury through the field From side to side, and everywhere o’ertook His victims, and the earth ran dark with blood.
As when a yeoman underneath the yoke Brings his broad-fronted oxen to tread out White barley on the level threshing-floor, The sheaves are quickly trodden small beneath The heavy footsteps of the bellowing beasts, So did the firm-paced coursers, which the son Of Peleus guided, trample with their feet Bucklers and corpses, while beneath the car Blood steeped the axle, and the chariot-seat Dripped on its rim with blood, that from below Was splashed upon them by the horses’ hoofs And by the chariot-wheels. Such havoc made Pelides in his ardor for renown, Till his invincible hands were foul with blood.