Was raised to avenge the slaughter of his son.

Yet deeply moved was Paris at his death, For he had been Harpalion’s guest among The Paphlagonians. Grieving for the slain, He sent a brazen arrow from his bow. Now there was one Euchenor, rich and brave, The son of Polyidus, hoary seer; His dwelling was in Corinth, and he came, Forewarned and conscious of his fate, to Troy; For often Polyidus, good old man, Warned him that he within his palace halls Should perish by a grievous malady, Or else be slain by Trojan hands beside The Grecian fleet. So, to escape at once The censure of the Achaians and disease, He came, lest he in after times might rue His choice. And now between the jaw and ear Did Paris smite him; from the warrior’s limbs Life fled, and darkness gathered o’er his eyes.