The terror of the bloody battle-field. The mightiest of the chiefs, while yet in wrath Achilles kept aloof, was Ajax, son Of Telamon; yet was Pelides far The greater warrior, and the steeds which bore That perfect hero were of noblest breed. In his beaked galleys, swift to cut the sea, Achilles lay, meanwhile, and nursed the wrath He bore to Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, The shepherd of the people. On the beach His warriors took their sport with javelins And quoits and bows, while near the chariots tied The horses, standing, browsed on lotus-leaves And parsley from the marshes. But beneath The tents the closely covered chariots stood, While idly through the camp the charioteers, Hither and thither sauntering, missed the sight Of their brave lord and went not to the field.
The army swept the earth as when a fire Devours the herbage of the plains. The ground Groaned under them as when the Thunderer Jove In anger with his lightnings smites the earth About Typhosus—where they say he lies— In Arimi. So fearfully the ground Groaned under that swift army as it moved.