Book XVI

SO round that fair-benched galley the surges of battle broke.
But Patroclus came and stood by Achilles the shepherd of folk,
Fast-shedding the hot-gushing tears, as adown from a rugged steep
Forth of a sunless well-spring the dusky waters leap.
And fleetfoot Achilles the godlike beheld him pity-stirred;
And he lifted his voice unto him, and he uttered the light-winged word:
“Why art thou weeping, Patroclus, as weepeth a fond little maid
By her mother that runneth, and prayeth the while in her arms to be laid,
And she stayeth her hurrying feet with the fingers that cling to her gown,
And with tear-swimming eyes looketh up till the cradling arms reach down?
‘Thou art shedding, Patroclus, the weakling’s tear-drops even as she.
Dost thou bring any tale to the Myrmidon folk, any word unto me?
Or what, hast thou heard any tidings from Phthia-land, thou alone?
Still of the living, they say, is Menoitius, Aktor’s son:
Still mid the Myrmidon folk liveth Peleus, Aiakus’ seed,
For these, if they haply had died, should we grieve in very deed.
Or what, dost thou mourn for the Argive men, beholding them slain
By the hollow ships, whose transgression alone hath wrought their bane?
Speak out, hide it not in thine heart, that thy grief may be known of twain.”
Then heavily groaning thou spakest, Patroclus lord of the car:
“O scion of Peleus, Achilles, Achaia’s mightiest far,
Be not indignant: by pain so sore is Achaia oppressed.
For all her champions, they that in days overpast were her best,
Lie mid the ships spear-stricken or smitten by arrow-flight.
Shaft-stricken is Tydeus’ son, Diomedes the stalwart in fight:
Spear-stabbed is Odysseus, and King Agamemnon the spear-renowned.
Yea, there is Eurypylus laid, for an arrow his thigh hath found.
And the leeches cunning in salves for their helping play their part,
Healing their hurts: but, Achilles, as adamant hard is thine heart.
Ah, never be such wrath mine as thou dost nurse in thy breast,
O balefully brave!—what man of the days unborn shall be blest
In thee, if thou stay not the ruin and shame in the Argives’ need?
Ah ruthless! no father of thine was Peleus lord of the steed,
Neither Thetis thy mother!—the grey sea cast thee forth from her brine,
And the crags untrodden begat thee: a pitiless heart is thine!
But and if ’tis a prophecy haunteth thy soul with a vision of fear,
If thy mother have told some fateful warning of Zeus in thine ear,
Yet in any wise speed me forth, and thy Myrmidons send to the war
With me, if I haply may rise on the host a deliverance-star.
And grant me to harness my shoulders with that thy battle-gear,
Peradventure the Trojans will think I am thou, and will shrink in their fear,
And the warrior sons of Achaia shall win, when sore distressed,
A breathing space, though scant be the battle’s respite or rest.
And we the unwearied shall drive the foe with the war-toil spent
Lightly aback to the city afar from galley and tent.”
So spake he in folly exceeding his prayer, for he asked therein
Death for himself, and his weird was an evil doom to win.
But answered him fleetfoot Achilles with sore disquiet stirred:
“Ah me, Zeus-born Patroclus, what ailed thee to say this word?
I heed not, if any I know, any oracle uttered of old,
Nor yet hath my mother from Zeus unto me such warning told.
But herein is mine heart’s grim anguish, the pang of my spirit is here,
That a man taketh on him to rob of his right his very peer,
And to take back his guerdon, the token of might overpassing his own;
Yea, this is mine heart’s grim anguish, the pang that my spirit hath known.
The maid that Achaia’s sons for my guerdon of war-renown
Chose out, whom I won with my spear when I smote a fair-walled town,
Even she from mine hands by Atreus’ son Agamemnon is torn,
As though I were naught but an alien wretch, a thing of scorn!
But now will we suffer the past to be past: one may not for aye
Nurse in his spirit a rancour undying: in sooth did I say
That I would not refrain mine anger until at the last drew nigh
Even to these my galleys the war and the battle-cry.
But thou in my glorious harness of fight thy shoulders array,
And lead my battle-revelling Myrmidons on to the fray,
If indeed the darkling cloud of the Trojans mightily
Hath encompassed the ships, the while, with their backs to the shore of the sea
The Argives reel, yet holding a scanty space of the land,
And against them the town of the Trojans is come in one great band
All fearless: for now they behold not my helmet’s brow-plate gleam
Anigh them. Full soon in their flight should they choke each trenchéd stream
With their corpses, if only the soul of the lord Agamemnon would bow
To show kindness to me: but their battle hath compassed his array now.
For no more in the hands of Tydeus’ son Diomedes the spear
Rageth to rescue the Danaan men from the doom drawn near;
Nor yet have I heard the cry of Atreus’ son ring out
From his hated head; but only Hector the manslayer’s shout,
On-cheering the Troyfolk, bursteth around, and with yell on yell
Throng they the plain, and in battle the sons of Achaia they quell.
Notwithstanding, Patroclus, to save yon galleys from ruin fell,
Charge mightily down, lest they burn the galleys with blazing fire,
And take our return away, and the day of our desire.
But obey thou, even as now I shall give in charge unto thee,
And so shalt thou win great honour and high renown for me
In the eyes of the Danaan host, and the maiden passing fair
Shall they take from the robber, and splendid gifts therewithal shall they bear.
When back from the ships thou hast hurled them, return: but if Héré’s Lord,
If the Thunderer still with glory thy battle-prowess reward,
Not far from my side be thou furious-eager to fight with the foe,
With the war-fain heroes of Troy: thou shalt minish my glory so.
Neither in rapture of battle and revel of fight, while fall
The Trojans before thee, lead thou on unto Ilium’s wall,
Lest one of the Gods everlasting should stoop from Olympus’ height
To meet thee—precious are they in Archer Apollo’s sight:—
But return, when amidst of the ships thou hast set the light of life,
And leave unto these through the plain to toil and to bleed in the strife.
Ah Zeus Allfather, Athéné, Apollo, that this might be,
That never a man of the thousands of Troy from the death might flee,
Nor yet of the, Argives any, but only I and thou,
That alone we might rend Troy’s hallowed battlement-veil from her brow!”
In such wise each unto other the eager words they said.
But Aias no longer abode, for with darts was he sorely bestead,
Overborne by the purpose of Zeus and the haughty Trojan’s rout;
And with terrible clanging the glittering helmet his temples about
Clashed ‘neath the hail of the javelins; and battered he was evermore
On the cheek-plates goodly-wrought; and his left arm wearied sore
With stoutly upbearing his glancing shield: yet they might not prevail
To dash it aside from his breast with the storm of their javelin-hail.
And ever he panted with labouring lungs: streamed every limb
With the sweat of his travail: no respite to breathe was there left unto him;
And on all sides evil was heaped upon evil ghastly and grim.
Tell to me, Muses, now, which abide in Olympus’ hall,
In what wise first did the flame on the galleys Achaian fall.
It was Hector to Aias that strode, and the shaft of his ashen pike,
Hard by the head thereof, with his mighty sword did he strike.
Clear through it he shore, and lo, Telamonian Aias swung
All vainly a pointless spear in his hand, and afar from him flung
Clanged to the earth as it fell that massy brazen head.
And Aias knew in his noble heart—and he shuddered in dread—
The deeds of the Gods, how Zeus high-thundering utterly broke
His counsel of battle, and victory willed to the Trojan folk.
Then aback from the darts he drew, and the tireless fire they hurled
On the fleet ship: swiftly around her the fierce flames tossed and whirled.
So fire wreathed round that stern: then smote upon either thigh
Achilles, and thus to Patroclus with eager words did he cry:
“Up, Zeus-begotten Patroclus, lord of the war-steed, rise!
The blast of the flame of the foe on the galleys I see with mine eyes.
Now lest they win the ships, and the home-return be lost,
Speedily don thine harness, and I will assemble the host.”
He spake, and Patroclus in flame-bright brass his body arrayed.
Unto his ankles first the greaves fair-fashioned he laid
Whereon the ankle-clasps of the burnished silver shone.
Then for a fence of his breast the corslet of proof did he don,
Cunningly wrought, star-gleaming, of Aiakus’ fleetfoot son.
And the brazen falchion silver-bestarred o’er his shoulders he flung,
And the baldric withal, wherefrom the huge strong buckler hung.
And a fair-wrought helmet he drew down over his gallant head:
Terribly nodded the crest with the dark mane overshed.
And he took to him lances twain well poised to his hand for his need;
Only he took not the spear of Aiakus’ fleetfoot seed,
The stark spear, massy and huge: mid Achaia’s host there was none
Might swing it, but strength for the wielding thereof had Achilles alone,
The shaft that Cheiron had brought to his father, the ashen beam
From the crest of Pelion hewn, o’er the slaughter of heroes to gleam.
Automedon then he commanded to harness the steeds to the yoke:
Him, next rank-rifting Achilles, he honoured above all folk;
And trustiest was he to him, his summons in battle to heed.
So the swift steeds unto the car for his lord did Automedon lead,
Xanthus and Balius; swiftly they flew as the racing breeze.
It was even the Harpy Podargé that bare to the West-wind these,
What time by the flow of the Ocean-stream she fed in a mead.
In the traces beside them he harnessed Pedasus, peerless steed.
Forth of Eétion’s town that horse did Achilles lead,
And his earth-born feet kept pace with immortal coursers’ speed.
Bidding the Myrmidons arm them for fight did Achilles fare
Through the tents mid the glitter of battle-gear; and as wolves they were,
Raw-ravening beasts, in whose spirits unspeakable strength doth abide,
Which have rent a mighty-antlered stag on a dark hill-side,
And devour him, that all their jaws are bedabbled with blood of the slaughter,
And thereafter the horde of them goeth to lap the dusky water
From the face of a sunless spring with their red tongues flickering thin,
While drip from their jaws the gouts of gore, and their breasts within
Is a heart unquailing, and gorged is their belly gaunt and lean:
So seemed they, the captains and chiefs of the Myrmidon battle-throng.
As around the fleetfoot Aiakid’s henchman valiant and strong —
They mustered; amidst them Achilles the warrior-champion stood,
As he marshalled the chariots and kindled the spearmen’s battle-mood.
Swift barks fifty there were, wherein that Zeus-loved lord,
Achilles, had led the host of his war-folk Ilium-ward.
On their thwarts were his hero companions, in each two score and ten;
And he chose whom chiefly he trusted for captains of these, five men:
And himself was king over all in the greatness of his might.
One squadron Menesthius led, of the corslet gleaming bright,
Son of the river Spercheius that falleth from heaven’s height.
Polydoré the lovely bare him, a daughter of Peleus’ race,
To Spercheius the tireless, a woman that couched in a God’s embrace;
But in name unto Borus she bare him, to Periéres’ son,
Who in men’s sight had her to wife, with a countless bride-price won.
And the second Eudorus the valiant forth to the battle led,
Whom the fair to behold in the dance, Polymélé, a maid unwed,
Bare, Phylas’ daughter was she, whom the Argus-slayer strong
Loved, when his eyes had beheld her as rang from her lips the song
Unto Artemis golden-shafted, the clear-voiced Huntress-queen.
Forthright to her bower he clomb, and he couched by her side unseen,
Hermes, averter of ills, and he gave her a goodly son,
Eudorus, unmatched in the race, and in battle a mighty one.
But after that Eileithuia the Lady of Travail had given
That babe to behold the beams of the sun and the light of heaven,
Her did the scion of Aktor, Echekles the stalwart and bold,
Lead to his palace, the bride that he won with gifts untold,
But Phylas the old man nurtured and cherished the babe left lone,
Folding him round with his love, as though he were son of his own.
And the third band unto the fray with Peisander the valiant pressed,
Maimalus’ son, who of all the Myrmidon men was the best,
Save only the comrade of Peleus’ son, in the javelin-cast.
And with Phoinix the grey car-lord the fourth to the battle passed.
With the fifth did Alkimedon, princely son of Laerkes, stand.
So then when Achilles had ranged all, parting them band by band,
With their captains, he uttered his hest, and he spake a vehement word:
“Myrmidons, see ye that no man forget those threats which I heard,
Those threats which ye hurled at the Trojans amidst of the ships as ye lay,
Through all the time of my wrath, and upbraiding me each man would say:
‘Beshrew thee, Peleides!—thy mother’s breasts gave gall to thy lips!
O ruthless, who holdest thy men in their own despite by the ships!
Lo now, in the sea-tracking galleys again let us homeward depart,
Forasmuch as baleful wrath hath fallen thus on thine heart!’
So ofttimes ye spake as ye thronged me: but now hath dawned the day
Of the mighty strife for the which ye were wont aforetime to pray.
Now, whoso hath valiant heart, let him battle with Troy’s array.”
So speaking he kindled their courage, and each man’s heart beat high;
And closer the ranks closed up at their captain’s challenge-cry.
And as when one buildeth a wall with the stones in close-set rows
For a stately house, for a screen when the blast of the wild wind blows,
Even so did the helms and the boss-starred shields dense-thronging close.
Targe pressed upon targe, and helmet on helmet, and man on man;
And from morion to nodding morion the leaping lightning ran
As the helm-crests swayed; so densely shoulder to shoulder they stood,
And in front of them all towered harnessed for fight two warriors good,
Patroclus, Automedon, they: in their hearts one purpose glowed,
To fight in the Myrmidon van. But hero Achilles strode
Into his tent, and uplifted the lid of a chest fair-wrought,
Curious-carven, which Thetis the silver-sandalled brought
To his galley, to bear oversea, and with tunics she stored it full,
And with mantles for screens from the blast, and with rugs thick-woven of wool.
And therein was a fashioned chalice, and no lips ever quaffed,
No lips of man, from its burnished splendour the flame-flushed draught;
And to none of the Gods save Father Zeus did he pour from the same.
This took he forth of the chest, and he cleansed it with brimstone flame.
Thereafter with fair-flowing streams of water he washed that cup,
And his hands he washed, and with wine fire-gleaming he filled it up.
Then stood he amidst of the court, and he prayed, and the wine he poured,
Looking up to the sky, and was seen of Zeus the Thunder-lord.
“Zeus, King of Dodona, Pelasgian, thou that abidest afar,
Who art Lord of Dodona the stormy, and round thee the dwellings are
Of thy prophets the Selli, with feet unwashen, whose couch is the ground:—
Of a truth, when aforetime I prayed to thee, grace in thy sight have I found,
And thou honouredst me, and thou scourgedst the folk of Achaia sore:
Now also, I pray thee, vouchsafe unto me this one boon more:
Lo I, even I, mid the throng of the gathered galleys abide,
But my comrade I send, with many a Myrmidon hero beside,
O Zeus, O Far-beholder, let glory attending him go!
Make valiant the heart in his breast, to the end that Hector may know
Whether mine henchman hath cunning in battle alone to contend,
Or in that hour only rage the invincible hands of my friend
When I myself go forth to the toil of the Lord of War.
But when from the ships he hath driven the strife and the onset-roar,
Then all unscathed to the swift ships back may he fare again
With his harness of war and his men of the grapple of close fight fain.”
Then Zeus the Counsel-father heard him in prayer as he cried,
And half his petition he granted the half thereof he denied.
He vouchsafed him to hurl the war and the strife from the galleys aback;
He denied him again to return alive from the battle-wrack.
So when he had poured unto Father Zeus, and had made his request,
He returned to his tent, and he laid that chalice again in the chest.
Then came he and stood in front of his tent, and his heart yearned yet
To behold the terrible strife when Achaian and Trojan met.
Then marshalled with mighty-hearted Patroclus forth did they go
With measured tramp, till with spirits exulting they burst on the foe.
And suddenly like unto wasps of the wayside forth they broke—
As the wasps that children in children’s fashion be wont to provoke;
For their wont is ever to vex those dwellers beside the way
With thoughtless hearts, and many for that their mischief must pay.
Then if haply thereafter a wayfaring man, as he wendeth thereby,
Shall unwittingly rouse them, forth with a heart unquailing they fly
All in a swarm, and they fight for their little ones dauntlessly:
Bearing the heart and the spirit of such from the ships poured out
The Myrmidon host, and rose the quenchless onset-shout.
And the cry of Patroclus rang through the roar of the battle-rout:
“Myrmidons, comrades all of Achilles Peleus’ child,
Quit you like men, and remember your prowess furious-wild,
That so we may honour Peleides, the man that is chiefest in might
By the ships of the Argives, he and his henchmen that close in the fight,
And that Atreus’ son may know, Agamemnon of far-stretching rule,
How he scorned Achaia’s best with the mad blind spite of the fool!”
So speaking he kindled their courage, and each man’s heart beat high;
And all in a throng on the Trojans they poured, and rang to their cry
With a terrible echo the ships, as the cheering host swept on.
But the Trojans, so soon as they looked on Menoitius’ stalwart son,
Even him and his henchman, as lightened their harness across the field,
Shaken in every man was his soul: the battalions reeled.
For it seemed them that Peleus’ fleetfoot son mid the ships had cast
Wrath out of his heart, and had chosen him lovingkindness at last;
And to ’scape from the sudden destruction each glanced round him aghast.
Then from the hand of Patroclus the gleaming javelin flashed
Full in the midst, where thickest the fighters in battle-shock clashed,
By the stern of the galley of Protesilaus the mighty of heart.
And Pyraichmes the lord of Paionia’s chariots he smote with the dart,—
Who had led them from Amydon-town by broad-flowing Axius’ stream,—
Smote on his rightward shoulder, and backward with agony-scream
Down fell he in dust, and his comrade Paionians were panic-thrilled
All round, for the souls of them all Patroclus with terror had filled
When the life of their captain, their mightiest in prowess of battle, he spilled.
From the galleys he drave them, he quenched the fire as fiercely it burned,
And half burnt there was the galley left; and flightward turned
The Trojans with clamour unearthly, and forth the Danaans poured
Through the line of the ships, and a din unceasing heavenward roared.
And as when from the soaring crest of a mighty mountain is rolled
By Lightning-gatherer Zeus a cloud clinging fold over fold,
And out of the dimness the heights and the mountain forelands start,
And the glens, and the heaven’s blue depths unfathomed are rifted apart;
So the Danaans, when from the ships they had beaten the flames back, won
A scanty breathing-space, but respite from war was there none;
For the Trojans not yet by the Arés-beloved Achaians’ might
Were chased in confusion of rout from the dark-hulled ships outright,
But yet they withstood them, and gave from the ships in their own despite.
So the ranks were broken, and chieftain by chieftain’s hand ’gan fall;
And Patroclus the stalwart son of Menoitius first of them all,
As Aréilykus turned backward to flee, with the keen-whetted brass
Suddenly hurled, and clear through his thigh did the point of it pass;
And the lance-head shattered the bone, and he fell on his face in the dust.
Menelaus the valiant the while at the breast of Thoas thrust,
Where bared by the shield-rim it showed, and unstrung was his every limb.
And as Amphiklus charged, Phyleides with keen glance watching him
Stabbed at the top of his leg, where thickest the muscle’s brawn
Upswelleth, and shearing the sinews asunder onward hath gone
The spear-head, and over his eyes was the veil of darkness drawn.
And Nestor’s sons—Antilochus stabbed with his keen-whetted spear,
And on ‘through Atymnius’ flank he drave the lance-head clear;
And he fell on his face: then on with his spear rushed Maris amain
To close with Antilochus, vengeance-athirst for his brother slain.
And in front of the corpse he stood: but or ever he dealt a blow
Thrasymédes the godlike was swifter, and thrust, and he missed not his foe,
Sudden-smiting his shoulder: the point of the lance from the muscles shore
His arm at the root, and clean through the shattered bone it tore;
Down-crashing he fell, and over his eyes did the death-mist pour.
So these twain slain by the hands of brethren twain lay dead,
Sarpedon’s valiant companions down unto Erebus sped,
Amisédarus’ javelin-hurling sons, of whose father was nursed
The resistless Chimaira, a bane unto many, a horror accurst.
And Aias Oileus’ seed upon Kleobulus hath sprung,
He hath caught him alive mid the rout, and his falchion on high hath he swung,
Down through his neck hath it flashed, and the strength of his limbs is unstrung;
And with blood was the whole blade warmed, and darkened his eyes neath the gloom
Of the raven wings of death and the overmastering doom.
Then rushed on each other Lykon and Péneleés, for the twain
Had missed with the lance, and the lightning had leapt from their hands in vain:
So they closed with the swords. At the crown of the crested helm of his foe
With his battle brand Lykon lashed: but shivered to shards with the blow
Was the brand at the hilt: then deep in his neck was buried the blade
Of Péneleds ‘neath his ear, till the hilt by the skin was stayed.
Drooped sideward his head, and his fainting limbs to the earth were cast.
And Mériones upon Akamas came with feet flying fast,
And his rightward shoulder he smote, when fain in his car he had fled,
And he fell from his chariot, and over his eyes was the death-mist shed.
And Idomeneus stabbed at Erymas’ mouth with the pitiless brass,
And clear through his head did the brazen point of the lance-head pass
Under the brain, and the white skull-bones did it cleave and crush,
And the teeth from their sockets were dashed, and his eyes with a swift blood-rush
Were drowned, and up through his mouth and his nostrils the gore did he spout
Wide-gaping, and death’s black cloud enfolded him round about.
So slew these chiefs of the Danaans each his man that day.
And as ravening wolves seize lambs or kidlings, snatching the prey
Out of the midst of a flock that is scattered wide on the wold
Through a shepherd’s heedless folly, and this do the spoilers behold;
And they rend for their banquet the helpless-innocent ones forthright;
So on the Trojans the Danaans fell, and yelling affright
Was in all their thoughts, and they wholly forgat their stormy might.
And Aias the mighty at Hector the brazen-helmed evermore
Was aiming his lance: but he in his cunning of battle-lore
With his shield of the tough bull-hide his shoulders broad would screen,
And his eyes for the hiss of the arrows, the hurtling of darts, were keen.
Good sooth, but he marked full well how turned was the battle’s tide,
Yet to save his trusty companions the brunt of the fight did he bide.
And as when from Olympus a cloud o’er the heaven’s deep blue rusheth fast
Out of the welkin, when Zeus on-speedeth the hurricane blast,
So suddenly rose from the ships their cry and their panic-dread,
And in wild disarray o’er the trench did they flee; and his fleet steeds sped
Back bearing Hector in war-gear, and there he forsook in his flight
His folk, whom the deep-delved trench held back in their own despite.
And many a swift car-speeding team wild-straining to cross
Snapped short the pole, and left the car of their lord in the foss.
And Patroclus pursued on-speeding his men with cheer on cheer
With purpose of bane to his foes, and the Trojans with shrieking and fear
Thronged all the ways as they scattered: the blast dust-laden on high
Rolled broad ’neath the clouds, and strained the thunderfoot horses to fly,
As aback to the city from tent and from galley the chariots they whirled.
But Patroclus, where densest the rout in its huddled confusion was hurled,
Thither with shouting he pressed, and his foes ’neath his axles were dashed
Flung headlong as staggering cars overtoppled and earthward crashed.
Clear over the trench did the fleetfoot immortal car-steeds spring—
Glorious gifts which the high Gods gave unto Peleus the king—
On-storming: on Hector’s track was his spirit driving him aye
Longing to smite him, but fast did his fleet steeds bear him away.
And as when ’neath the scourge of the tempest lashed is the whole dark land
‘In the latter summer, when wildest the rain-floods pour from the hand
Of Zeus, when against the children of men his anger doth burn
Who with violence amidst the assembly the statutes thwartwise turn,
When justice they drive from their midst, nor the vengeance of Gods they heed;
And all their rivers in flood overbrimming onward speed
And many a hill-side deep by the rushing torrents is ploughed,
As on to the dark-blue sea they roll with groaning loud
In headlong plunge from the hills, and they ruin the labours of man;
So did the steeds of the Trojans groan aloud as they ran.
But so soon as Patroclus had rifted the foremost ranks of the foe,
Back to the galleys he turned them, and suffered them not to go
In their mad haste up to the city, but there in the space that lay
Betwixt the river, the ships, and the high-built wall did he slay
Swift-swooping, and wreaked for many a comrade the vengeance due.
Yea, Pronoüs there with his flame-bright javelin first he slew,
Piercing his breast by the shield-rim bared, that his limbs were unstrung:
Down-crashing he fell: and now upon Enops’ child hath he sprung,
Even on Thestor,—and he on the goodly-burnished car
Sat crouching, for terror-distraught were his wits; from his hands afar
Had the reins been whirled:—to the side of the wretch Patroclus rushed
And his right jaw stabbed with the spear: through the midst of his teeth it crushed.
O’er the car-rail dragged he the man by the spear, as a fisher-wight,
On a rock-shelf sitting, with line and with hook of the brass flame-bright
Draggeth up from the sea to the shore a huge fish silver-scaled,.
So him from the chariot agape on the glittering spear hath he haled.
On his face did he fling him, and even as he fell the life of him passed
Then rushed Erylaüs on him, but a mighty stone he cast
At the midst of his brow, and utterly cleft in twain was his head
In the massy helmet, and he on his face to the earth fell dead,
And around him the darkness of death the devourer of spirits was shed.
By his hand did Amphoterus then, Epaltes, and Erymas fall,
And Tlepolemus son of Damastor, and Echius, Pyris withal;
Iphis, Euippus, he slew, Polymélus Argeas’ son;
On the all-sustaining earth did he stretch them one after one.
Now soon as Sarpedon was ware of the havoc Patroclus made,
How his men of the tunics ungirt by his hands on the earth were laid,
Then did the hero the godlike Lycian men upbraid:
“Shame, Lycians, whitherward flee ye? Now charge keen on the foe!
Lo, I, even I, will meet this champion, and so shall I know
What hero is this that prevaileth, and manifold mischief hath wrought
To the Trojans, and many a brave man’s knees to the earth hath brought.”
As he spake, to the ground from his chariot he leapt, and his armour rang;
And against him Patroclus beholding it down from his war-car sprang.
And even as bow-beaked vultures crooked of talon fight
With wild screams ringing afar on a great crag’s rugged height,
So with a wild shout these on each other rushed. At the sight
Was the son of Kronos the Lord of Unsearchable Counsels stirred
With ruth, and to Héré his sister and wife he spake the word:
“Ah me, that Sarpedon my child, my well-beloved one
Is doomed to be slain by the hands of Patroclus Menoitius’ son!
Now the thoughts of mine heart be divided in twain as I muse this day:—
Shall I send him away alive from the midst of the dolorous fray,
And set him down where the fruitful acres of Lycia lie,
Or now by the hands of Menoitius’ son shall I leave him to die?”
Answered him Héré the Queen, the Lovely-eyed, and she said:
“What hast thou to do saying this, O Kronos’ son most dread?
A man that is mortal-born, long since foredoomed by fate,
Art thou minded backward to pluck from death’s dread-echoing gate?
Do after thy will—but the rest of the Gods shall praise thee not.
This too will I tell thee, and thou in thine heart for this take thought:—
If homeward thou send Sarpedon alive from the fight, take heed
Lest haply another God beside shall be minded to speed
A son that himself hath begotten forth from the fury of war:
For fighting for yon great city of Priam many there are
Of the sons of the Deathless, and these shalt thou fill with wrath most grim.
But and if he be dear unto thee, if the soul of thee mourneth for him,
Yet let him be, that he perish amidst of the mighty strife,
That the hands of Patroclus Menoitius’ son may spill his life.
But so soon as his soul and his life shall have fled as he lieth there,
Then send thou Death and gentle Sleep his body to bear
Far hence, until they be come unto Lycia-land the wide,
And there ‘neath a grave-mound his brethren and kinsfolk his ashes shall hide,
With a pillar thereon, for the honour is this of the dead which have died.”
She spake, and the Father of Gods and of men consented thereto;
Yet down on the earth did he shed blood-drops in a crimson dew
To honour his dear-loved son, whom Patroclus was doomed to slay
On the fruitful Troyland soil, from his fatherland far away.
So when they were now drawn nigh, as against each other they came,
Then hurled Patroclus, and smote Thrasymélus, a man of fame,
For the valiant chariot-henchman of King Sarpedon he was:
In the nether belly he smote him, and palsied his limbs with the brass.
Then leapt on his foe Sarpedon, and thrust with his lance flame-bright;
But he missed him, yet did the spear on the car-steed Pedasus light
On the rightward shoulder: outgasping his life with a piercing cry
He fell in the dust, and moaned, and forth did the life of him fly.
Then his yokefellows started asunder, the yoke groaned, rein with rein
Was tangled, so soon as lay in the dust that trace-horse slain.
But Automedon spear-renowned for their strait found help at need,
For he snatched from beside his thigh his long-edged sword with speed,
And he rushed and he cut the trace-horse loose, neither lingered in vain;
So were the steeds set right, in the harness again did they strain;
And for heart-consuming strife once more did they close, they twain.
Then hurled Sarpedon his glittering lance, but in vain was it sped,
For over Patroclus’ shoulder to leftward the spear-point fled,
Nor smote him: Patroclus thereafter his javelin swung on high,
And nowise in vain from his hand did the murder-lightning fly;
But there where the midriff fenceth the restless heart did he smite.
Down fell he, as falleth an oak or a poplar’s stately height,
Or as when mid the mountains the craftsmen have hewn a pine-tree tall
With axes newly whetted, to build them a galley withal.
So there in front of the steeds and the car outstretched did he lie
Groaning and clutching the bloody dust in his agony.
And as when mid a herd of the trailfoot kine a lion doth creep
And seizeth a tawny bull great-hearted with sudden leap,
And under the jaws of the lion he groaneth his life away,
So under Patroclus the captain of Lycia’s spear-array
Raged, smitten to death; and he cried on his comrade, and thus did he say:
“Dear Glaukus, thou champion mid heroes, sore is the need that thou
Shouldest show thee a valiant spearman, a dauntless warrior now.
Be grim strife now thy desire, if indeed thou art keen for the fray.
First go thou on every hand to the Lycian war-array,
And enkindle their hero-chiefs to fight for Sarpedon slain,
And thereafter to battle for me come thou thyself again.
For confusion of face shall my name be to thee, and a bitter mock
Through all thy days evermore, if to-day the Achaian folk
Shall spoil of his harness of fight thy friend mid the ships laid low.
Now manfully bear thee, and kindle my people to face the foe.”
‘So spake he, and straightway thereafter the veil of death was spread
O’er his eyes and his nostrils. Then on his breast did Patroclus tread,
And he plucked from the flesh the spear, and the midriff came with the brass,
Yea, out of the selfsame gash did his soul and the spear-head pass.
And the Myrmidons stayed the snorting chariot-steeds thereby,
For the car of their lords was forsaken, and eager they were to fly.
But on Glaukus came sore pain, that cry of his friend when he heard;
And, seeing he could not defend him, his heart was anguish-stirred
And straitly his arm with his hand did he grasp, for that faint with pain
Was he yet from the wound which Teucer’s shaft, as he rushed amain
On the high-built rampart, had dealt to defend the Achaians from bane.
And then to Apollo the Smiter from Far he uttered his prayer:.
“Hearken, O King, who art somewhere in Lycia the fruitful-fair,
Or haply in Troyland thou art—but everywhere heard by thee
Is the man in his trouble that crieth, such trouble as compasseth me.
For a grievous wound have I gotten; the pangs sharp-stabbing thrill
From mine arm even down to mine hand, and welleth the red blood still,
It cannot be stanched, and thereby is my shoulder burdened sore:
And my spear may I not grip firmly, I cannot go forth any more
To battle with foes: and low is a champion of champions laid,
Sarpedon the child of Zeus—yet his son doth he nowise aid.
Yet, I beseech thee, heal my grievous wound, O King,
And assuage thou the anguish, and give to me might, that my voice may ring
Through the Lycian ranks of war as I kindle their battle-might,
And that I myself to defend the corpse of the slain may fight.”
So did he cry, and Phoebus Apollo heard as he prayed.
Forthright he assuaged his pangs, and the dark blood’s flow he stayed
From the grievous wound, and his spirit with sudden might he thrilled.
And Glaukus was ware thereof, and his soul with joy was filled,
Because that so swiftly the mighty God had heard him pray.
Then first he enkindled the chiefs of the Lycian war-array,
Passing this way and that through the host, to fight for Sarpedon dead.
Unto the Trojans thereafter with long swift strides he sped.
On Polydamas Panthoüs’ son and Agénor the godlike he cried:
To Aeneas he came, and to brazen-helmeted Hector’s side;
And he uttered the winged word-flight, and with eager lips ’gan say:
“Hast thou wholly forgotten, O Hector, thine outland aid this day,
The men that for thy sake far from fatherland and friend
Are losing their lives, and these hast thou no will to defend
Low lieth Sarpedon, the chief of the Lycian spearman-band,
Who in Lycia maintained the right, and her shield was the strength of his hand
Him brazen Arés hath laid ’neath the spear of Patroclus low!;
Friends, stand by his side!—let your hearts be indignation-aglow
Lest the Myrmidons spoil his mail, lest his corpse they foully entreat,
That their wrath for the Danaans slain may taste a revenge most sweet,
For all that we slew with the spears by the sea-swift ships of the fleet.”
Then the inmost hearts of the Trojans with unendurable grief,
Heart-crushing, were filled; for, albeit he was but an outland chief,
The bulwark he was of their town, and with him had come from afar
A countless host, and himself was a mighty man of war.
And in fury they charged on the Danaans: Hector led them on,
Being wroth for the sake of Sarpedon, the while Menoitius’ son,
Patroclus the lion-heart, cheered on the Achaians. First
On the two Aiantes he cried, which before were battle-athirst:,
“Aiantes, now let your hearts take joy to withstand the foe,
Valiant as ever, yea, braver yet, if it may be so!
Low lieth the man who foremost scaled the rampart’s-height,
Sarpedon;—and shall we not take him, and do to his corse despite,
And strip from his body his armour, and whatso comrade shall come
For his rescuing, him with the pitiless brass let us speed to his doom!”
So spake he, but they unbidden were eager and fain of the fray.
So when upon either side they had massed their battle-array,
Trojans and Lycian warriors, Achaians and Myrmidon men,
To fight for the corpse of the slain they clashed in the onset then
With a terrible shout: loud clanged the heroes’ smitten mail.
And with baleful night did Zeus that mighty grapple veil
To make for his son sore labour of battle and deadly bale.
First backward the Trojans bare the Achaians flashing-eyed,
For a man of the Myrmidons, nowise their meanest, was smitten and died,
Epeigeus the godlike, the son of Agaklés the mighty-souled,
Which was king in Budeion aforetime, the stately battle-hold;
But when that his kinsman, a goodly man, by his hand had bled,
Unto Peleus a suppliant, and Thetis the silver-sandalled, he fled;
And these to Achilles the battle-rifter joined him, to fare
Unto Ilium the war-steed land, to fight with the Trojans there.
And when now he was seizing the dead man, Hector the glorious threw
A huge rock-shard, and his head was utterly cleft in two
In the massy helmet: he fell on his face to the earth on the dead,
And around him the darkness of death the devourer of spirits was shed.
Then for his comrade slain was Patroclus anguished at heart.
Straight on through the forefighters like to a fleet-winged hawk did he dart,
Which scattereth starlings and daws in affright with his sudden swoop;
So, lord of the steed, Patroclus, full on the Lycian troop
Didst thou rush, and on Trojans, wrathful at heart for thy friend laid low.
At Ithaimenes’ dear-loved son Sthenelaüs a stone did he throw,
At his neck, and beneath its rush did the rifted sinews crack.
Back darted the foremost: Hector the glorious faltered back.
And far as attaineth a slender-shafted javelin’s flight
When a man in the athlete-strife maketh uttermost proof of his might,
Or when foemen be pressing upon him athirst for his life in the fray,
So far did the Trojans recoil, and the Danaans thrust them away.
But Glaukus the first, the captain of Lycia’s spear-array,
Turned him about, and Bathyklés the mighty-souled did he slay,
Chalkon’s belovéd son, whose dwelling in Hellas was found,
Who for wealth and the bliss of his days mid the Danaan folk was renowned;
Him Glaukus stabbed with the keen spear full in the midst of his breast,
Suddenly turning upon him, as hard on his flight he pressed.
And he fell with a crash, and o’er the Achaians sore grief came
For a brave man’s fall, and greatly the Trojans rejoiced for the same.
Then thronged they around him: yet the Achaians forgat not there
Their prowess, but full on the Trojans the fury of battle they bare.
And Mériones slew a Trojan arrayed in harness fair,
Laogonus, valiant son of Onétor the priest of the shrine
Of Idaean Zeus,—as a god men rendered him honour divine:—
For he smote ’neath his jaw and his ear; and swiftly fleeted his soul
From his limbs, and over his eyes did a horrible darkness roll.
Then Aeneas at Mériones his brazen javelin threw,
For he trusted to smite him as fenced by his buckler anigh him he drew.
But with keen glance looking before him he shunned the brazen spear,
For forward he bowed, and the lance long-shafted far to the rear
Plunged into the earth, and above it the spear-butt quivered in air
Till Arés the stormy-hearted had spent its fury there.
So the spear of Aeneas shivering into the earth sank deep,
Forasmuch as on bootless flight from his brawny hand did it leap.
And the heart of Aeneas was wroth for this, and aloud cried he:
“Mériones, how nimble soever a dancer thou be,
My lance, if I had but touched thee, had stilled thy dancing for aye!”
Spake Mériones, and to him did the spear-renowned say;
Aeneas, what though thou be strong, thou shalt find it all too hard
To quell the prowess of all men, whenso thy path shall be barred
By them that against thee shall come: thou art mortal of mould, I ween.
And if I peradventure shall smite thee through with my javelin keen,
Soon, strong though thou be, though thou trust in thine hands, shalt thou yield thy renown
Unto me, when thy soul unto Hades of glorious steeds goeth down.”
So spake he, but chiding him cried Menoitius’ stalwart seed:
Why talkest thou, Mériones, O thou who art strong for the deed?
O friend, it is nowise for scoffing words that our Trojan foes
Will flinch from the corpse, ere then over many the earth shall close.
In our hands is the issue of war, but for speech is the council dight,
Therefore it nowise needeth to multiply words, but to fight.”
So spake he, and led, and pressed beside him the godlike wight.
And from them—as the din goeth up when the woodmen the broad axe swing
Mid the glens of a mountain, and far away doth the noise of it ring,—
From them went clashing and clanging up from the earth-ways wide,
From the brass, from the goodly-fashioned shields of the tough bull-hide,
From the swinging blades and the spears two-headed thrusting there.
But Sarpedon the godlike had no man discerned, how keen soe’er,
For that heaped with darts, and rolled in blood and in dust that day
Even from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, he lay.
And ever around the corse were they thronging, as when flies come
At a farmstead down on the vessels of milk with ceaseless hum
In the spring, when the white foam-beads to the brim of the milk-pails rise;
So swarmed they around the corpse, and never his shining eyes
Turned Zeus from the mighty fray as to this side and that side it rolled,
But he gazed evermore on the heroes, and pondered doubtful-souled
With many a thought for the death of Patroclus, and mused alway
Whether in that same hour in the midst of the mighty fray
Hector the glorious there with the brass should smite him and slay
Over Sarpedon the godlike, and strip from his shoulders his mail,
Or the hero should multiply yet unto many toil and bale.
And thus, as he mused in his heart, him seemed it were best to be done,
Even this, that the henchman brave of Achilles Peleus’ son
Should drive the Trojans and Hector the brass-mailed back again
Unto the city, and spoil of their lives full many men.
Therefore with faintness of spirit he first thrilled Hector’s breast
That he sprang to his chariot, and flightward he turned him, and cried on the rest
To flee, for the sinking down of the scales of Zeus he ‘discerned.
Nor the stalwart Lycians abode any longer, but all they turned
And fled, when they saw their king with his heart by the death-stab stung
Lying amidst of a heap of corpses, for many were flung
Upon him, when Zeus wrought high the battle’s toil and strain.
So the Danaans stripped from the shoulders of King Sarpedon slain
His glittering harness of brass, and Menoitius’ strong son gave
These to his comrades to bear to the hollow ships by the wave,
Then to Apollo did Zeus the Cloudrack-gatherer say:
“Go now, dear Phoebus, I pray thee, and snatch from the darts away
Sarpedon, and cleanse from the blood dark-clotted, and bearing him go
Far off from the battle, and bathe thou him in the river’s flow;
With ambrosia anoint him, and clothe him with raiment immortal-fair.
Thereafter to fleet-winged wafters give thou his corse to bear,
Unto Sleep and Death, the Twins, who on soundless-speeding wing
To the fair fat land of Lycia the wide my child shall bring.
And there ‘neath a grave-mound his brethren and kinsmen his ashes shall hide,
With a pillar thereon: for the honour is this of the dead which have died.”
He spake, nor the hest of his sire did Apollo disobey;
But down from the ridges of Ida he sped to the terrible fray.
Straight from mid darts he uplifted Sarpedon the godlike, and thence
Bare far to the river’s streams, and his body there did he cleanse,
With ambrosia anointed, and clothed him with raiment immortal-fair,
And thereafter to fleet-winged wafters gave he his corse to bear,
Unto Sleep and Death, the Twins, who on soundless-speeding wing
To the fair fat land of Lycia the wide did the hero bring.
On-cheering his steeds and Automedon pressed Patroclus hard
On the Trojans and Lycian men:—ah fool, but his wisdom was marred
And folly-distraught: had he heeded the hest of Peleus’ seed,
From the evil doom and the blackness of death had he surely been freed.
But the purpose of Zeus doth the counsel of man evermore overbear:
He dismayeth the valiant, the victory out of his hand doth he tear
Lightly: anon to the battle himself will uprouse him again.
Even he in the breast of Patroclus enkindled a fury then.
Who then was the first that thou slewest, the last, what man was he,
What time, O Patroclus, the Gods to thy death were beckoning thee?
First did Adréstus, and Autonoüs, and Echeklus fall,
Perimus Meges’ son, Melanippus, Epistor withal:
Mulius, Elasus smote he thereafter, Pylartes he sped,
Even these, but their fellows in haste from the storm of his fury fled.
Then by the hands of Patroclus the sons of Achaia had won
High-gated Troy, for his spear lightened round him, and aye stormed on,
But for this, that Phoebus Apollo stood on a fair-built tower
With purpose of bane for the hero, but shielding Troy with his power.
Thrice on the high wall’s corner Patroclus leapt amain,
Thrice backward Apollo’s buffet hurled him reeling again
As ’neath his immortal hands the flashing buckler rang.
But when for the fourth time on like a God in his fury he sprang,
The winged words pealed with a terrible shout from the lips divine:
“Back, Zeus-begotten Patroclus! Not yet ’neath spear of thine
Is it doomed that the town of the lordly Trojan men shall bow,
Nor yet ‘neath Achilles’ hand, who is mightier far than thou.”
So did he say, and Patroclus a long space backward recoiled,
For by dread of the wrath of Apollo the Smiter from Far was he foiled.
By the Skaian gateway did Hector his thunderfoot horses stay,
Wavering whether to plunge yet again mid the roar of the fray,
Or to shout to the people to gather within Troy’s walls to hide.
And thus as he pondered, Phoebus Apollo stood by his side
Clothed in the shape of a man full stalwart and goodly to see,
Asius, uncle of Hector the queller of steeds, was he,
Blood-brother of Hekabé, offspring of Dymas, who had his abode
In Phrygia, and hard by his dwelling the streams of Sangarius flowed.
Clad in his semblance Apollo the Zeus-begotten cried:
“Hector, thou oughtest not thus:—from the battle why dost thou hide?
Ah to be so much the stronger, as now I am weaker far;
Then shouldst thou rue it full soon, to shrink like a craven from war!
Nay come, with the strong-hoofed steeds charge thou on Patroclus down,
If thou haply mayst smite him and slay, and Apollo may give thee renown.”
So spake the God, and returned to the battle-toil of men;
And to war-wise Kebrionés spake Hector the glorious then
To lash the steeds into battle, the while Apollo went
On through the heart of the fight, and baneful panic he sent
On the Argives, but glory did he on the Trojans and Hector bestow.
But Hector passed all Danaans by, and he laid none low,
But down on Patroclus alone with his strong-hoofed horses he swept;
And Patroclus overagainst him to earth from his chariot leapt,
In his left hand holding his spear, but the other a flint-shard found,
A glittering jagged stone, and the grasp of him compassed it round.
And he gathered his strength and he hurled: not wide of the mark did it light,
Neither vainly he sped it, but Hector’s charioteer did he smite—
Even Kebrionés, far-famous Priam’s bastard son,
As he grasped the reins of the car—on the forehead with that sharp stone.
And it crushed in both his brows: by the bone was it nowise stopped,
And dashed from their sockets to earth in the dust the eyes of him dropped
In front of his feet, and he, as a diver that springs from a height,
Plunged down from the fair-fashioned car, and the life from his bones took flight.
And with scoffs thou shoutedst above him, Patroclus chariot-knight:
“Lo, lo, how nimble a wight!—how deft in the diver’s leap!
Ah if he were but somewhere now on the fish-fraught deep,
With oysters enow should he fill full many a hungry soul,
From a ship down-plunging, yea, though the sea should stormily roll;
So lightly he diveth headlong on dry land now from the car!
Good sooth but amidst our Trojans cunning divers are!”
So spake he, and rushed upon Kebrionés the hero-souled
With a leap as the leap of a lion, which, even as he wasteth the fold,
Hath been struck on the breast with a dart, that his prowess hath wrought his bane;
So didst thou rush, Patroclus, on Kebrionés full fain.
But Hector overagainst him hath leapt from his car to the plain.
And there over Kebrionés they strove like lions twain,
Which over a slaughtered stag amidst of the mountain-crests
In famished fury are grappling and rending with dauntless breasts.
So there over Kebrionés those battle-kindlers warred,
Patroclus Menoitius’ son, and Hector the glorious lord,
Each eager to cleave with the ruthless brass the flesh of his foe.
By the head did Hector seize that corse, and he let not go;
And Patroclus grasped by his foot, and the others to left and to right,
Trojans and Danaans, clashed in the desperate grapple of fight.
And as when the East-wind and South-wind in stormy contention strive
In the glens of a mountain, a deep dark forest to rend and rive,
Scourging the smooth-stemmed cornel-tree, and the beech and the ash,
While against each other their far-spreading branches swing and dash
With unearthly din, and ever the shattering limbs of them crash;
So did Achaians and Trojans contending stab and slash
On-rushing: they dreamed not of ruinous flight, nor those nor these;
And many a keen-whetted spear plunged deep round Kebrionés;
Deep plunged they, the feathered arrows from strings hard-straining that sprang,
And by many a huge stone battered the dinted targes rang,
As they fought o’er him. Mighty he lay mid the whirlwind of dust of war,
As the mighty should lie, forgetting the joy of the battle-car.
So all through the morning-tide, and still while the day waxed hot,
Fast fell the folk, as the shafts from host unto host were shot.
But so soon as the sun ’gan slope to the hour for unloosing the yoke,
Then even beyond their fate prevailed the Achaian folk.
And forth from the darts the hero Kebrionés did they hale,
From the onset-cry of the Trojans, and stripped from his shoulders his mail.
And Patroclus burst on the Trojan array with purpose of bane;
Thrice, battle-peer of the fleetfoot War-god, charged he amain,
Raising his terrible shout, and thrice laid nine men low.
But when for the fourth time, dread as a God, he rushed on the foe,
Then unto thee, Patroclus, appeared the end of life,
For Phoebus came to meet thee amidst of the mighty strife,
Dreadful. He marked not the God as he passed through the battle rout,
For he came to meet him with shoulders in dense cloud compassed about,
And behind him he stood, and his back and the shoulders broad of him
Smote with his palm: with the shock did his starting eyeballs swim.
Yea, far from his head the helmet Phoebus Apollo dashed,
And rolling away ’neath the feet of the car-steeds clanged and clashed
That visored casque;.and with blood and with dust were the hairs of the plume
Polluted. But ere that hour was it nowise the high Gods’ doom
That with dust that horsemane-crested helmet should ever be marred,
But the head of a godlike man and his comely brow did it guard,
Even Achilles, but Zeus unto Hector gave it now
To bear on his head—it was even the shadow of death on his brow.
And shivered was all the lance long-shafted within his hand,
The stark spear massy and huge; from his shoulders the baldric-band,
With the shield that from shoulder to ankle reached, was hurled to the plain,
And Apollo the Zeus-born snapped his corslet-clasps in twain.
And wilderment seized his spirit; his glorious limbs were unstrung,
And he stood all dazed. From behind him a Dardan warrior flung
At his back his shoulders between, from anigh, a keen-whetted spear:
It was Panthoüs’ son Euphorbus, who had mid the youths no peer
In the craft of the lance and the car, and in speed of his feet flying fast:
Yea, twenty men by then from their cars to the earth had he cast,
Who but newly was come in his chariot to learn the lesson of war.
He first with the javelin smote thee, Patroclus lord of the car,
But slew not. He plucked from the flesh the ashen spear away,
Then backward he fled, and he plunged mid the throng, for he dared not stay
Patroclus’ onset, though fenceless he was, in the midst of the fray.
And Patroclus, by stroke of the God and by thrust of the lance overcome,
Backward drew to the host of his comrades shrinking from doom.
But so soon as Hector beheld Patroclus the mighty of heart
Back from the forefront recoiling, smit by the keen-whetted dart,
He rushed through the ranks till he came full nigh, and he stabbed with the brass
At his nether flank, and clear therethrough did the spear-head pass.
Down-crashing he fell, and it troubled the folk of Achaia sore.
And as when in battle a lion hath vanquished a tameless boar,
As high on a mountain-ridge with dauntless courage they fought
For a scanty spring, and by thirst was their fury the higher wrought;
And he panteth hard, by the might of the lion at last laid low;
So, when Menoitius’ son had slain full many a foe,
Did the spear-thrust of Hector the Priamid rend his life away:
And vaunting above him with swift-winged words did the victor say:
“Ha, thou didst threaten, Patroclus, to waste the town high-pight
Of Priam, and take from the Trojan women freedom’s light,
And to bear them away in thy ships to thy fatherland far overseas!
Fool!—but the fleetfoot horses of Hector defending these
Speed with their feet to the battle, and I with the spear am renowned
Mid the war-loving Trojans, because that in me is a shield for them found
From the day of bondage: but thee shall the vultures here devour.
Wretch, naught hath Achilles availed thee, for all his might and his power,
Who, I ween, as thou wentest, charged thee with many an earnest word:
‘I beseech thee, return not again, Patroclus chariot-lord,
Unto the hollow ships, till the tunic blood-defiled
Thou hast cleft on the breast of Hector the manslayer, Priam’s child.’
So did he charge thee, I ween, and thy witless soul he beguiled!”
Then feebly and faintly thou spakest, Patroclus lord of the steed:
“Ay, boast on, Hector, now: Zeus giveth thee victory’s meed,
Even Kronos’ son, and Apollo, who lightly have overborne
Patroclus—’tis they from my shoulders mine harness of battle have torn.
But if twenty such heroes as thou had endured mine onset to bide,
Here by my spear overmastered had every man of them died.
But baneful Fate and the Offspring of Léto have slain me now,
And of men, Euphorbus; and naught but the third in my murder art thou.
Yea, this will I tell thee moreover, and deep in thine heart let it stay—
Of a surety thyself not long shalt continue, but even this day
Hard after thee Death and the overmastering Doom press on.
Thou shalt fall by the hands of Achilles, Aiakus’ noble son.”
And the end of death enshrouded him soon as the word was said,
And the soul flitting forth from the limbs to the mansion of Hades had fled,
Wailing her doom, and forsaking her manhood and lustihead.
But to him, yea, dead though he lieth, Hector the glorious saith:
“Patroclus, what hast thou to do to forebode unto me swift death?
Who knoweth but bright-haired Thetis’ offspring Achilles perchance
Shall, or ever I fall, be smitten, and yield up his life to my lance?”
So spake he, and setting his heel on the corpse he tore from the wound
The brazen lance, and he thrust him aback from the spear to the ground.
And to spill Automedon’s life he rushed forthright with his spear,
The fleetfoot Aiakid’s godlike henchman-charioteer,
Fain was he to smite him: but far was he borne by the car-steeds swift,
Immortal, on Peleus bestowed for the high Gods’ glorious gift.