Thus having spoke, the driver's lash resounds;

Swift through the ranks the rapid chariot bounds;

Stung by the stroke, the coursers scour the fields,

O'er heaps of carcases, and hills of shields.

The horses' hoofs are bathed in heroes' gore,

And, dashing, purple all the car before;

The groaning axle sable drops distils,

And mangled carnage clogs the rapid wheels.

Here Hector, plunging through the thickest fight,

Broke the dark phalanx, and let in the light:

(

By the long lance, the sword, or ponderous stone.

The ranks he scatter'd and the troops o'erthrown:)

Ajax he shuns, through all the dire debate,

And fears that arm whose force he felt so late.

But partial Jove, espousing Hector's part,

Shot heaven-bred horror through the Grecian's heart;

Confused, unnerved in Hector's presence grown,

Amazed he stood, with terrors not his own.

O'er his broad back his moony shield he threw,

And, glaring round, by tardy steps withdrew.

Thus the grim lion his retreat maintains,

Beset with watchful dogs, and shouting swains;

Repulsed by numbers from the nightly stalls,

Though rage impels him, and though hunger calls,

Long stands the showering darts, and missile fires;

431

The Iliad of Homer