So Neptune spake, encouraging the Greeks. While firmly stood the serried phalanxes Round either Ajax, nor could Mars himself, Nor Pallas, musterer of armèd hosts, Reprove their order. There the flower of Greece Waited the Trojans and their noble chief, Spear beside spear, and shield by shield, so close That buckler pressed on buckler, helm on helm, And man on man. The plumes of horse-hair touched Each other as they nodded on the crests Of the bright helms, so close the warriors stood. The lances quivered in the fearless hands Of warriors eager to advance and strike The enemy. But the men of Troy began The assault; the fiery Hector was the first To rush against the Greeks. As when a stone Rolls from a cliff before a wintry flood That sweeps it down the steep, when mighty rains Have worn away the props that held it fast; It rolls and bounds on high; the woods around Crash, as it tears its unresisted way Along the slope until it reach the plain, And there, however urged, moves on no more;⁠— So Hector, menacing to cut his way