With other men of Troy where Xanthus flows.
And Phorcys, and Ascanius, who was like
A god in beauty, led the Phrygian troops
From far Ascania, eager for the fray.
And Antiphus and Mesthles were the chiefs
Of the Mæonian warriors, reared beside
The ships of Tmolus. There Gygæa's lake
Brought forth both chieftains to Pylamenes.

Nastes was leader of the Carian troops,

Who spake in barbarous accents and possessed
Miletus and the leafy mountain heights

Where dwell the Phthirians, and Mæander's stream,

And airy peaks of Mycale. O'er these
Amphimachus and Nastes held command,-
Amphimachus and Nastes, far renowned
Sons of Nomion, him who, madly vain,
Went to the battle pranked like a young girl
In golden ornaments. They spared him not
The bitter doom of death; he fell beneath

The hand of swift Æacides within

The river's channel. There the great in war,

Achilles, spoiled Nomion of his gold.

Sarpedon and the noble Glaucus bore

Rule o'er the Lycians coming from afar,

Where eddying Xanthus runs through Lycia's meads.

BOOK III.

OW when both armies were arrayed for war,

NOW

Each with its chiefs, the Trojan host moved on
With shouts and clang of arms, as when the cry
Of cranes is in the air, that, flying south

From winter and its mighty breadth of rain,

Wing their way over ocean, and at dawn
Bring fearful battle to the pigmy race,

Bloodshed and death. But silently the Greeks
Went forward, breathing valor, mindful still

To aid each other in the coming fray.

As when the south wind shrouds a mountain-top

In vapors that awake the shepherd's fear, —

A surer covert for the thief than night, —
And round him one can only see as far
As one can hurl a stone,- such was the cloud
Of dust that from the warriors' trampling feet
Rose round their rapid march and filled the air.

Now drew they near each other, face to face,

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And Paris in the Trojan van pressed on,
In presence like a god. A leopard's hide
Was thrown across his shoulders, and he bore
A crooked bow and falchion. Brandishing
Two brazen-pointed javelins, he defied
To mortal fight the bravest of the Greeks.
Him Menelaus, loved of Mars, beheld
Advancing with large strides before the rest;
And as a hungry lion who has made

A

prey

of some large beast—a hornèd stag

Or mountain goat-rejoices, and with speed
Devours it, though swift hounds and sturdy youths
Press on his flank, so Menelaus felt

Great joy when Paris, of the godlike form,
Appeared in sight, for now he thought to wreak
His vengeance on the guilty one, and straight
Sprang from his car to earth with all his arms.
But when the graceful Paris saw the chief
Come toward him from the foremost ranks, his heart
Was troubled, and he turned and passed among
His fellow-warriors and avoided death.

As one who meets within a mountain glade

A

serpent starts aside with sudden fright,

And takes the backward

way with trembling limbs

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And cheeks all white,—the graceful Paris thus
Before the son of Atreus shrank in fear,

And mingled with the high-souled sons of Troy.
Hector beheld and thus upbraided him

Harshly: "O luckless Paris, nobly formed,
Yet woman-follower and seducer! Thou

Shouldst never have been born, or else at best

Have died unwedded; better were it far,

Than thus to be a scandal and a scorn

To all who look on thee. The long-haired Greeks,
How they will laugh, who for thy gallant looks
Deemed thee a hero, when there dwells in thee
No spirit and no courage? Wast thou such
When, crossing the great deep in thy stanch ships
With chosen comrades, thou didst make thy way
Among a stranger-people and bear off

A beautiful woman from that distant land,
Allied by marriage-ties to warrior-men,—
A mischief to thy father and to us

And all the people, to our foes a joy,

And a disgrace to thee? Why couldst thou not

Await Atrides? Then hadst thou been taught

From what a valiant warrior thou didst take

His blooming spouse. Thy harp will not avail,

Nor all the gifts of Venus, nor thy locks,
Nor thy fair form, when thou art laid in dust.
Surely the sons of Troy are faint of heart,
Else hadst thou, for the evil thou hast wrought,
Been laid beneath a coverlet of stone."

Then Paris, of the godlike presence, spake
In answer: "Hector, thy rebuke is just;

Thou dost not wrong me.

Dauntless is thy heart;

'Tis like an axe when, wielded by the hand

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That hews the shipwright's plank, it cuts right through,
Doubling the wielder's force. Such tameless heart
Dwells in thy bosom. Yet reproach me not

With the fair gifts which golden Venus
Whatever in their grace the gods bestow

Is not to be rejected: 't is not ours

gave.

To choose what they shall give us. But if thou

Desirest to behold

my prowess shown

In combat, cause the Trojans and the Greeks

To

pause from battle, while, between the hosts,

I and the warlike Menelaus strive

In single fight for Helen and her wealth.

Whoever shall prevail and
prove himself
The better warrior, let him take with him
The treasure and the woman, and depart;

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