There for some luckier Greek it rests a prize;

For dark in death the godlike owner lies!

Raging with grief, great Menelaus burns,

And fraught with vengeance, to the victor turns:

That shook the ponderous lance, in act to throw;

And this stood adverse with the bended bow:

Full on his breast the Trojan arrow fell,

But harmless bounded from the plated steel.

As on some ample barn's well harden'd floor,

(The winds collected at each open door,)

While the broad fan with force is whirl'd around,

Light leaps the golden grain, resulting from the ground:

So from the steel that guards Atrides' heart,

Repell'd to distance flies the bounding dart.

Atrides, watchful of the unwary foe,

Pierced with his lance the hand that grasp'd the bow.

And nailed it to the yew: the wounded hand

Trail'd the long lance that mark'd with blood the sand:

But good Agenor gently from the wound

The spear solicits, and the bandage bound;

A sling's soft wool, snatch'd from a soldier's side,

At once the tent and ligature supplied.

Behold! Pisander, urged by fate's decree,

Springs through the ranks to fall, and fall by thee,

Great Menelaus! to enchance thy fame:

500

The Iliad of Homer