Then sprang Achilles with his spear to slay The godlike Polydorus, Priam’s son, Whose father bade him not to join the war, For he was younger than the other sons, And dearest of them all. In speed of foot He had no peer. Yet, with a boyish pride To show his swiftness, in the foremost ranks He ranged the field, until he lost his life. Him with a javelin the swift-footed son Of Peleus smote as he was hurrying by. The weapon pierced the middle of his back, Where, by its golden rings, the belt was clasped Above the double corselet; the keen blade Came forth in front; the Trojan with a cry Fell forward on his knees, and, bending, clasped His bowels in his hands. When Hector saw His brother thus upon the earth, there came A darkness o’er his eyes, nor could he bear Longer to stand aloof, but, brandishing His spear, came forward like a rushing flame To meet the son of Peleus, who beheld And bounded toward him, saying boastfully: “So, he is near whose hand hath given my heart Its deepest wound, who slew my dearest friend.