But Hector, son of Priam, and the great Ulysses measured off a fitting space, And in a brazen helmet, to decide Which warrior first should hurl the brazen spear, They shook the lots, while all the people round Lifted their hands to heaven and prayed the gods; And thus the Trojans and Achaians said:—
“O Father Jove, who rulest from the top Of Ida, mightiest one and most august! Whichever of these twain has done the wrong, Grant that he pass to Pluto’s dwelling, slain, While friendship and a faithful league are ours.”
So spake they. Hector of the beamy helm Looked back and shook the lots. Forth leaped at once The lot of Paris. Then they took their seats In ranks beside their rapid steeds, and where Lay their rich armor. Paris the divine, Husband of bright-haired Helen, there put on His shining panoply—upon his legs Fair greaves, with silver clasps, and on his breast His brother’s mail, Lycaon’s, fitting well His form. Around his shoulders then he hung His silver-studded sword, and stout, broad shield, And gave his glorious brows the dreadful helm, Dark with its horse-hair plume. A massive spear Filled his right hand. Meantime the warlike son Of Atreus clad himself in like array.
And now when both were armed for fight, and each Had left his host, and, coming forward, walked Between the Trojans and the Greeks, and frowned Upon the other, a mute wonder held The Trojan cavaliers and well-greaved Greeks. There near each other in the measured space They stood in wrathful mood with lifted spears.
First Paris hurled his massive spear; it smote The round shield of Atrides, but the brass Broke not beneath the blow; the weapon’s point Was bent on that strong shield. The next assault Atrides Menelaus made, but first Offered this prayer to Father Jupiter:—
“O sovereign Jove! Vouchsafe that I avenge On guilty Paris wrongs which he was first To offer; let him fall beneath my hand, That men may dread