While to the ramparts daring Glaucus drew, From Teucer’s hand a winged arrow flew; The bearded shaft the destined passage found, And on his naked arm inflicts a wound. The chief, who fear’d some foe’s insulting boast Might stop the progress of his warlike host, Conceal’d the wound, and, leaping from his height Retired reluctant from the unfinish’d fight. Divine Sarpedon with regret beheld Disabled Glaucus slowly quit the field; His beating breast with generous ardour glows, He springs to fight, and flies upon the foes. Alcmaon first was doom’d his force to feel; Deep in his breast he plunged the pointed steel; Then from the yawning wound with fury tore The spear, pursued by gushing streams of gore: Down sinks the warrior with a thundering sound, His brazen armour rings against the ground.