crew, And the bold son of Pylaemenes slew. Harpalion had through Asia travell'd far, Following his martial father to the war: Through filial love he left his native shore, Never, ah, never to behold it more! His unsuccessful spear he chanced to fling Against the target of the Spartan king; Thus of his lance disarm'd, from death he flies, And turns around his apprehensive eyes. Him, through the hip transpiercing as he fled, The shaft of Merion mingled with the dead. Beneath the bone the glancing point descends, And, driving down, the swelling bladder rends: Sunk in his sad companions' arms he lay, And in short pantings sobb'd his soul away; (Like some vile worm extended on the ground;) While life's red torrent gush'd from out the wound. Him on his car the Paphlagonian train In slow procession bore from off the plain. The pensive father, father now no more! Attends the mournful pomp along the shore; And unavailing tears profusely shed; And, unrevenged, deplored his offspring dead. Paris from far the moving sight beheld, With pity soften'd and with fury swell'd: His honour'd host, a youth of matchless grace, And loved of all the Paphlagonian race! With his full strength he bent his angry bow, And wing'd the feather'd vengeance at the foe. A chief there was, the brave Euchenor named, For riches much, and more for virtue famed. Who held his seat in Corinth's stately town; Polydus' son, a seer of old renown. Oft had the father told his early doom, By arms abroad, or slow disease at home: He climb'd his vessel, prodigal of breath, And chose the certain glorious path to death. Beneath his ear the pointed arrow went; The soul came issuing at the narrow vent: His limbs, unnerved, drop useless on the ground, And everlasting darkness shades him round. Nor knew great Hector how his legions yield, (Wrapp'd in the cloud and tumult of the field:) Wide on the left the force of Greece commands