At Ajax glorious Hector cast his spear, As face to face they stood. It missed him not, But struck him where two belts upon his breast O’erlapped each other⁠—that which held the shield And that which bore the silver-studded sword. These saved the tender muscles. Hector, vexed That thus his weapon should have flown in vain, Retreated toward his comrades, shunning death. As he drew back, the Telamonian hurled A stone⁠—for stones in multitude, that propped The galleys, lay around, and rolled among The feet of those who struggled. One of these He lifted, smiting Hector on the breast, Above the buckler’s orb and near the neck. He sent it spinning like a top; it fell And whirled along the ground. As when beneath The stroke of Father Jupiter an oak Falls broken at the root, and from it fumes A stifling smell of sulphur, and the heart Of him who stands and sees it sinks with dread⁠— For fearful is the bolt of mighty Jove⁠— So dropped the valiant Hector to the earth Amid the dust; his hand let fall the spear; His shield and helm fell with him, and his mail