But vow to Lycian Phoebus bow-renown’d
A hecatomb, all firstlings of the flock,
To fair Zeleia’s[5] walls once safe restored. 120
So Pallas spake, to whom infatuate he
Listening, uncased at once his polished bow.[6]
That bow, the laden brows of a wild goat
Salacious had supplied; him on a day
Forth-issuing from his cave, in ambush placed 125
He wounded with an arrow to his breast
Dispatch’d, and on the rock supine he fell. 
Each horn had from his head tall growth attain’d,
Full sixteen palms; them shaven smooth the smith
Had aptly join’d, and tipt their points with gold. 130
That bow he strung, then, stooping, planted firm
The nether horn, his comrades bold the while
Screening him close with shields, lest ere the prince
Were stricken, Menelaus brave in arms,
The Greeks with fierce assault should interpose. 135
He raised his quiver’s lid; he chose a dart
Unflown, full-fledged, and barb’d with pangs of death. 
He lodged in haste the arrow on the string,
And vow’d to Lycian Phoebus bow-renown’d
A hecatomb, all firstlings of the flock, 140
To fair Zeleia’s walls once safe restored. 
Compressing next nerve and notch’d arrow-head
He drew back both together, to his pap
Drew home the nerve, the barb home to his bow,
And when the horn was curved to a wide arch, 145
He twang’d it.  Whizz’d the bowstring, and the reed
Leap’d off, impatient for the distant throng. 
Thee, Menelaus, then the blessed Gods
Forgat not; Pallas huntress of the spoil,
Thy guardian then, baffled the cruel dart. 150
Far as a mother wafts the fly aside[7]
That haunts her slumbering babe, so far she drove
Its course aslant, directing it herself
Against the golden clasps that join’d his belt;
For there the doubled hauberk interposed. 155
The bitter arrow plunged into his belt. 
It pierced his broider’d belt, stood fixt within
His twisted hauberk, nor the interior quilt,
Though penetrable least to arrow-points
And his best guard, withheld it, but it pass’d 160
That also, and the Hero’s skin inscribed. 
Quick flowed a sable current from the wound. 
As when a Carian or Maeonian maid
Impurples ivory ordain’d to grace
The cheek of martial steed; safe stored it lies, 165
By many a Chief desired, but proves at last
The stately trapping of some prince,[8] the pride
Of his high pamper’d steed, nor less his own;
Such, Menelaus, seem’d thy shapely thighs,
Thy legs, thy feet, stained with thy trickling blood. 170
Shudder’d King Agamemnon when he saw
The blood fast trickling from the wound, nor less
Shudder’d himself the bleeding warrior bold. 
But neck and barb observing from the flesh
Extant, he gather’d heart, and lived again.