“O son of Peleus! what avails to trace (Replied the warrior) our illustrious race? From rich Paeonia’s valleys I command, Arm’d with protended spears, my native band; Now shines the tenth bright morning since I came In aid of Ilion to the fields of fame: Axius, who swells with all the neighbouring rills, And wide around the floated region fills, Begot my sire, whose spear much glory won: Now lift thy arm, and try that hero’s son!”