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But Pallas now Tydides' soul inspires, Fills with her force, and warms with all her fires: Above the Greeks his deathless fame to raise, And crown her hero with distinguished praise, High on his helm celestial lightnings play, His beamy shield emits a living ray; The unwearied blaze incessant streams supplies, Like the red star that fires the autumnal skies.
So, perhaps, she will hold back the terrible warrior, Tydides, from sacred Ilium. And I will go and seek out Paris; would that the earth would swallow him up! for Zeus hath cherished him to be the bane of his country, and of his father Priam."
changing from the narrative to direct discourse. Like children, Grecian warriors, ye debate Like babes to whom unknown are feats of arms. Atrides thou, as is thy wont, maintain Unchang'd thy counsel; for the stubborn fight Array the Greeks. Thou wouldst not know to whom Tydides may join himself, instead of "no one can know."
Such is the kind of Courage Homer exhibits in his characters; Diomed and Hector for example. The latter says, "Polydamas will be the first to fix Disgrace upon me." Diomed again, "For Hector surely will hereafter say, Speaking in Troy, Tydides by my hand" "But whomsoever I shall find cowering afar from the fight, The teeth of dogs he shall by no means escape."
Meanwhile, Tydides rushed on before the others, for Athene was shedding glory on his head. Next to him ran the horses of Menelaus, son of Atreus.
Then came Antilochus, son of Nestor, who spake thus to his father's Pylian horses: "I do not ask you to contend with Tydides, whose horses Athene herself is speeding; but I pray you to catch up the chariot of Atrides; and be not beaten by Aithe, lest she, who is only a mare, pour ridicule upon you." Thus spake Antilochus, and his horses were afraid, and sped on more swiftly.
Thou liv'st in the isles of the blest, 'tis said, With Achilles, first in speed, And Tydides Diomede. In a wreath of myrtle I'll wear my glaive, Like Harmodius and Aristogeiton brave, When the twain on Athena's day Did the tyrant Hipparchus slay. Even now, more than thirty years later, the breeze in the Sabine ilex seemed to be playing a wraith of the same tune.
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