The young Molions also, Actor’s sons, Had not their father, he who shakes the earth, Enshrouded them in mist, and hidden them From all pursuit. Then with victorious might Did Jove endue our arms, while we pursued The foe across a region strewn with shields⁠— Slaying, and gathering spoil⁠—until our steeds Came to Buprasium, rich in fields of wheat, And to the Olenian rock, and to the hill Alesium in Coloné. Pallas there Stayed our pursuit, and bade our host return. There slew I the last man, and left him there. And then the Achaians, guiding their swift steeds Homeward to Pylos from Euprasium, gave Great thanks to Jupiter among the gods, And Nestor among men. Such was I then Among the heroes; but Achilles keeps His valor for himself alone⁠—and yet Bitterly must he grieve when he beholds Our people perish. O my friend! How well Menoetius charged thee when he sent thee forth, From Phthia, to Atrides! We were both⁠— The nobly born Ulysses and myself⁠— Within the palace, and we clearly heard