He spake, and drew the keen-edged sword that hung, Massive and finely tempered, at his side, And sprang⁠—as when an eagle high in heaven, Through the thick cloud, darts downward to the plain To clutch some tender lamb or timid hare, So Hector, brandishing that keen-edged sword, Sprang forward, while Achilles opposite Leaped toward him, all on fire with savage hate, And holding his bright buckler, nobly wrought, Before him. On his shining helmet waved The fourfold crest; there tossed the golden tufts With which the hand of Vulcan lavishly Had decked it. As in the still hours of night Hesper goes forth among the host of stars, The fairest light of heaven, so brightly shone, Brandished in the right hand of Peleus’ son, The spear’s keen blade, as, confident to slay The noble Hector, o’er his glorious form His quick eye ran, exploring where to plant The surest wound. The glittering mail of brass Won from the slain Patroclus guarded well Each part, save only where the collar-bones Divide the shoulder from the neck, and there Appeared the throat, the spot where life is most