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Item No. comdagen-6602032538174392156
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assaults had stood Of force and fire, its walls besmear'd with blood. Him, the bold leader of the Abantian throng,(140) Seized to despoil, and dragg'd the corpse along: But while he strove to tug the inserted dart, Agenor's javelin reach'd the hero's heart. His flank, unguarded by his ample shield, Admits the lance: he falls, and spurns the field; The nerves, unbraced, support his limbs no more; The soul comes floating in a tide of gore. Trojans and Greeks now gather round t

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that Greece and Troy may say, 'Not hate, but glory, made these chiefs contend; And each brave foe was in his soul a friend.'" With that, a sword with stars of silver graced, The baldric studded, and the sheath enchased, He gave the Greek. The generous Greek bestow'd A radiant belt that rich with purple glow'd. Then with majestic grace they quit the plain; This seeks the Grecian, that the Phrygian train. The Trojan bands returning Hector wait, And hail with joy the Champion of their state; Escaped great Ajax, they survey him round, Alive, unarm'd, and vigorous from his wound; To Troy's high gates the godlike man they bear Their present triumph, as their late despair. But Ajax, glorying in his hardy deed, The well-arm'd Greeks to Agamemnon lead. A steer for sacrifice the king design'd, Of full five years, and of the nobler kind. The victim falls; they strip the smoking hide, The beast they quarter, and the joints divide; Then spread the tables, the repast prepare, Each takes his seat, and each receives his share. The king himself (an honorary sign) Before great Ajax placed the mighty chine.(185) When now the rage of hunger was removed, Nestor, in each persuasive art approved, The sage whose counsels long had sway'd the rest, In words like these his prudent thought express'd: "How dear, O kings! this fatal day has cost, What Greeks are perish'd! what a people lost! What tides of blood have drench'd Scamander's shore! What crowds of heroes sunk to rise no more! Then hear me, chief! nor let the morrow's light Awake thy squadrons to new toils of fight: Some space at least permit the war to breathe, While we to flames our slaughter'd friends bequeath, From the red field their scatter'd bodies bear, And nigh the fleet a funeral structure rear; So decent urns their snowy bones may keep, And pious children o'er their ashes weep. Here, where on one promiscuous pile they blazed, High o'er t