godlike Hector meet; For one bright prize the matchless chiefs contend, Nor this the ships can fire, nor that defend: One kept the shore, and one the vessel trod; That fix'd as fate, this acted by a god. The son of Clytius in his daring hand, The deck approaching, shakes a flaming brand; But, pierced by Telamon's huge lance, expires: Thundering he falls, and drops the extinguish'd fires. Great Hector view'd him with a sad survey, As stretch'd in dust before the stern he lay. "Oh! all of Trojan, all of Lycian race! Stand to your arms, maintain this arduous space: Lo! where the son of royal Clytius lies; Ah, save his arms, secure his obsequies!" This said, his eager javelin sought the foe: But Ajax shunn'd the meditated blow. Not vainly yet the forceful lance was thrown; It stretch'd in dust unhappy Lycophron: An exile long, sustain'd at Ajax' board, A faithful servant to a foreign lord; In peace, and war, for ever at his side, Near his loved master, as he lived, he died. From the high poop he tumbles on the sand, And lies a lifeless load along the land. With anguish Ajax views the piercing sight, And thus inflames his brother to the fight: "Teucer, behold! extended on the shore Our friend, our loved companion! now no more! Dear as a parent, with a parent's care To fight our wars he left his native air. This death deplored, to Hector's rage we owe; Revenge, revenge it on the cruel foe. Where are those darts on which the fates attend? And where the bow which Phoebus taught to bend?" Impatient Teucer, hastening to his aid, Before the chief his ample bow display'd; The well-stored quiver on his shoulders hung: Then hiss'd his arrow, and the bowstring sung. Clytus, Pisenor's son, renown'd in fame, (To thee, Polydamas! an honour'd name) Drove through the thickest of the embattled plains The startling steeds, and shook his eager reins. As all on glory ran his ardent mind, The pointed