Left leaning on the tamarisks his spear Upon the river’s border, and leaped in, Armed only with his sword, intent to deal Death on the fugitives; on every side He smote, and from the smitten by the sword Rose lamentable cries; the waves around Grew crimson with their blood. As when before A dolphin of huge bulk the fishes flee In fear, and crowd the creeks that lie around The sheltered haven⁠—for their foe devours All that he overtakes⁠—the Trojans thus Hid from his sight among the hollow rocks Beside the rushing river. When his hand Was weary with the work of death, he took Twelve youths alive, whose blood was yet to pay The penalty for Menoetiades, His slaughtered friend. He led them from the stream, Passive with fear like fawns, and tied their hands Behind them with the well-twined cords that bound Their tunics. Then he gave them to his friends, Who led the captives to the roomy ships.