struck the ground.  Again, as darts the vulture on his prey, Meriones assailing him, the lance Pluck’d from his arm, and to his band retired.  Then, casting his fraternal arms around 650 Deiphobus, him young Polites led From the hoarse battle to his rapid steeds And his bright chariot in the distant rear, Which bore him back to Troy, languid and loud- Groaning, and bleeding from his recent wound. 655 Still raged the war, and infinite arose The clamor.  Aphareus, Caletor’s son, Turning to face AEneas, in his throat Instant the hero’s pointed lance received.  With head reclined, and bearing to the ground 660 Buckler and helmet with him, in dark shades Of soul-divorcing death involved, he fell.  Antilochus, observing Thooen turn’d To flight, that moment pierced him; from his back He ripp’d the vein which through the trunk its course 665 Winds upward to the neck; that vein he ripp’d All forth; supine he fell, and with both hands Extended to his fellow-warriors, died.  Forth sprang Antilochus to strip his arms, But watch’d, meantime, the Trojans, who in crowds 670 Encircling him, his splendid buckler broad Smote oft, but none with ruthless point prevail’d Even to inscribe the skin of Nestor’s son, Whom Neptune, shaker of the shores, amid Innumerable darts kept still secure. 675 Yet never from his foes he shrank, but faced From side to side, nor idle slept his spear, But with rotation ceaseless turn’d and turn’d To every part, now levell’d at a foe Far-distant, at a foe, now, near at hand. 680 Nor he, thus occupied, unseen escaped By Asius’ offspring Adamas, who close Advancing, struck the centre of his shield.  But Neptune azure-hair’d so dear a life Denied to Adamas, and render’d vain 685 The weapon; part within his disk remain’d Like a seer’d stake, and part fell at his feet.  Then Adamas, for his own life alarm’d, Retired, but as he went, Meriones Him reaching with his lance, the shame between 690 And navel pierced him, where the stroke of Mars Proves painful most to miserable man.  There enter’d deep the weapon; down he fell, And in the dust lay panting as an ox Among the mountains pants by peasants held 695 In twisted bands, and dragg’d perforce along; So panted dying Adamas, but soon Ceased, for Meriones, approaching, pluck’d The weapon forth, and darkness veil’d his eyes.  Helenus, with his heavy Thracian blade 700 Smiting the temples of Deipyrus, Dash’d off his helmet; from his brows remote It fell, and wandering roll’d, till at his feet Some warrior found it, and secured; meantime The sightless shades of death him wrapp’d around. 705 Grief at that spectacle the bosom fill’d Of valiant Menelaus; high he shook His radiant spear, and threatening him, advanced On royal Helenus, who ready stood With his bow bent.  They met; impatient, one,