And lash’d his steeds; they not unwilling flew
  Midway the earth between and starry heaven. 
  To spring-fed Ida, mother of wild beasts,
  He came, where stands in Gargarus[3] his shrine 55
  Breathing fresh incense! there the Sire of all
  Arriving, loosed his coursers, and around
  Involving them in gather’d clouds opaque,
  Sat on the mountain’s head, in his own might
  Exulting, with the towers of Ilium all 60
  Beneath his eye, and the whole fleet of Greece. 
    In all their tents, meantime, Achaia’s sons
  Took short refreshment, and for fight prepared. 
  On the other side, though fewer, yet constrain’d
  By strong necessity, throughout all Troy, 65
  In the defence of children and wives
  Ardent, the Trojans panted for the field. 
  Wide flew the city gates:  forth rush’d to war
  Horsemen and foot, and tumult wild arose. 
  They met, they clash’d; loud was the din of spears 70
  And bucklers on their bosoms brazen-mail’d
  Encountering, shields in opposition from
  Met bossy shields, and tumult wild arose.[4]
    There many a shout and many a dying groan
  Were heard, the slayer and the maim’d aloud 75
  Clamoring, and the earth was drench’d with blood. 
  ’Till sacred morn[5] had brighten’d into noon,
  The vollied weapons on both sides their task
  Perform’d effectual, and the people fell. 
  But when the sun had climb’d the middle skies, 80
  The Sire of all then took his golden scales;[6]
  Doom against doom he weigh’d, the eternal fates
  In counterpoise, of Trojans and of Greeks. 
  He rais’d the beam; low sank the heavier lot
  Of the Achaians; the Achaian doom 85
  Subsided, and the Trojan struck the skies. 
    Then roar’d the thunders from the summit hurl’d
  of Ida, and his vivid lightnings flew
  Into Achaia’s host.  They at the sight
  Astonish’d stood; fear whiten’d every cheek.[7] 90
  Idomeneus dared not himself abide
  That shock, nor Agamemnon stood, nor stood
  The heroes Ajax, ministers of Mars. 
  Gerenian Nestor, guardian of the Greeks,
  Alone fled not, nor he by choice remain’d, 95
  But by his steed retarded, which the mate
  Of beauteous Helen, Paris, with a shaft
  Had stricken where the forelock grows, a part
  Of all most mortal.  Tortured by the wound
  Erect he rose, the arrow in his brain, 100
  And writhing furious, scared his fellow-steeds. 
  Meantime, while, strenuous, with his falchion’s edge
  The hoary warrior stood slashing the reins,
  Through multitudes of fierce pursuers borne
  On rapid wheels, the dauntless charioteer 105
  Approach’d him, Hector.  Then, past hope, had died