ὀξυβελὴς, καθ’ ὅμιλον ἐπιπτέσθαι μενεαίνων.
To bend that bow the warrior lowered it
And pressed an end against the earth....
Then the Lycian drew aside
The cover from his quiver, taking out
A well-fledged arrow that had never flown,—
A cause of future sorrows. On the string
He laid that fatal arrow....
Grasping the bowstring and the arrow’s notch
He drew them back and forced the string to meet