multitude. As when two boars
Turn desperate on the close-pursuing hounds,
So they, returning on the host of Troy,
Slew on all sides, and overtoil'd with flight
From Hector's arm, the Greeks meantime respired. 400
Two warriors, next, their chariot and themselves
They took, plebeians brave, sons of the seer
Percosian Merops in prophetic skill
Surpassing all; he both his sons forbad
The mortal field, but disobedient they 405
Still sought it, for their destiny prevail'd.
Spear-practised Diomede of life deprived
Both these, and stripp'd them of their glorious arms,
While by Ulysses' hand Hippodamus
Died and Hypeirochus. And now the son 410
Of Saturn, looking down from Ida, poised
The doubtful war, and mutual deaths they dealt.
Tydides plunged his spear into the groin
Of the illustrious son of Paeon, bold
Agastrophus. No steeds at his command 415
Had he, infatuate! but his charioteer
His steeds detain'd remote, while through the van
Himself on foot rush'd madly till he fell.
But Hector through the ranks darting his eye
Perceived, and with ear-piercing cries advanced 420
Against them, follow'd by the host of Troy.
The son of Tydeus, shuddering, his approach
Discern'd, and instant to Ulysses spake.[13]
Now comes the storm! This way the mischief rolls!
Stand and repulse the Trojan. Now be firm. 425
He said, and hurling his long-shadow'd beam
Smote Hector. At his helmet's crown he aim'd,
Nor err'd, but brass encountering brass, the point
Glanced wide, for he had cased his youthful brows
In triple brass, Apollo's glorious gift. 430
Yet with rapidity at such a shock
Hector recoil'd into the multitude
Afar, where sinking to his knees, he lean'd
On his broad palm, and darkness veil'd his eyes.
But while Tydides follow'd through the van 435
His stormy spear, which in the distant soil
Implanted stood, Hector his scatter'd sense
Recovering, to his chariot sprang again,
And, diving deep into his host, escaped.
The noble son of Tydeus, spear in hand, 440
Rush'd after him, and as he went, exclaim'd.
Dog! thou hast now escaped; but, sure the stroke
Approach'd thee nigh, well-aim'd. Once more thy prayers
Which ever to Apollo thou prefer'st
Ent