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
Entering the clash of battle, have prevail’d, 445
And he hath rescued thee.  But well beware
Our next encounter, for if also me
Some God befriend, thou diest.  Now will I seek
Another mark, and smite whom next I may. 

    He spake, and of his armor stripp’d the son 450

Spear-famed of Paeon.  Meantime Paris, mate
Of beauteous Helen, drew his bow against
Tydides; by a pillar of the tomb
Of Ilus, ancient senator revered,
Conceal’d he stood, and while the Hero loosed 455
His corselet from the breast of Paeon’s son
Renown’d, and of his helmet and his targe
Despoil’d him; Paris, arching quick his bow,
No devious shaft dismiss’d, but his right foot
Pierced through the sole, and fix’d it to the ground. 460
Transported from his ambush forth he leap’d
With a loud laugh, and, vaunting, thus exclaim’d: 

    Oh shaft well shot! it galls thee.  Would to heaven

That it had pierced thy heart, and thou hadst died! 
So had the Trojans respite from their toils 465
Enjoy’d, who, now, shudder at sight of thee
Like she-goats when the lion is at hand. 

    To whom, undaunted, Diomede replied. 

Archer shrew-tongued! spie-maiden! man of curls![14]
Shouldst thou in arms attempt me face to face, 470