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To Troy they drove him, groaning from the shore,
And sprinkling, as he pass'd, the sands with gore.
Meanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the sanguine ground,
Heaps fall on heaps, and heaven and earth resound.
Bold Aphareus by great Æneas bled;
As toward the chief he turn'd his daring head,
He pierced his throat; the bending head, depress'd
Beneath his helmet, nods upon his breast;
His shield reversed o'er the fallen warrior lies,
And everlasting slumber seals his eyes.
Antilochus, as Thoon turn'd him round,
Transpierced his back with a dishonest wound:
The hollow vein, that to the neck extends
Along the chine, his eager javelin rends:
Supine he falls, and to his social train
Spreads his imploring arms, but spreads in vain.
Th' exulting victor, leaping where he lay,
From his broad shoulders tore the spoils away;
His time observed; for closed by foes around,
On all sides thick the peals of arms resound.
His shield emboss'd the ringing storm sustains,
But he impervious and untouch'd remains.
(Great Neptune's care preserved from hostile rage
This youth, the joy of Nestor's glorious age.)
In arms intrepid, with the first he fought,
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