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Book XVI

The Sixth Battle⁠—Death of Patroclus

Patroclus permitted by Achilles to take part in the war, on condition that he will return after repulsing the Trojans from the fleet⁠—His preparations for the battle, putting on the armor of Achilles, and summoning the Myrmidons to follow him⁠—Alarm of the Trojans on seeing him, supposing him to be Achilles⁠—His exploits⁠—The Trojans driven back from the fleet⁠—Death of Sarpedon⁠—The Trojans pursued by Patroclus, contrary to the command of Achilles, to the walls of Troy⁠—Patroclus disarmed by Apollo, wounded by Euphorbus, and slain by Hector.

Such was the struggle for that gallant barque.

Meanwhile Patroclus stood beside his friend

The shepherd of the people, Peleus’ son,

And shed hot tears, as when a fountain sheds

Dark waters streaming down a precipice.

The great Achilles, swift of foot, beheld

And pitied him, and spake these wingèd words:⁠—

“Why weepest thou, Patroclus, like a girl⁠—

A little girl that by her mother’s side

Runs, importuning to be taken up,

And plucks her by the robe, and stops her way,

And looks at her, and cries, until at last

She rests within her arms? Thou art like her,

Patroclus, with thy tears. Dost thou then bring

Sad tidings to the Myrmidons or me?

Or hast thou news from Phthia? It is said

That still Menoetius, son of Actor, lives,

And Peleus also, son of Aeacus,

Among the Myrmidons. Full bitterly

Should we lament to hear that either died.

Or mournest thou because the Achaians fall

Through their own folly by the roomy ships?

Speak, and hide nothing, for I too would know.”

And thou, O knight Patroclus, with a sigh

Deep drawn, didst answer thus: “Be not displeased,

Achilles, son of Peleus, bravest far

Of all the Achaian army! For the Greeks

Endure a bitter lot. The chiefs who late

Were deemed their mightiest are within the ships,

Wounded or stricken down. There Diomed,

The gallant son of Tydeus, lies, and there

Ulysses, the great spearman, wounded both;

And Agamemnon; and Eurypylus,

Driven from the field, an arrow in his thigh.

Round them the healers, skilled in remedies,

Attend and dress their painful wounds, while thou,

Achilles, sittest here implacable.

O, never be such fierce resentments mine

As thou dost cherish, who art only brave

For mischief! Whom wilt thou hereafter aid,

If now thou rescue not the perishing Greeks?

O merciless! It cannot surely be

That Peleus was thy father, or the queen

Thetis thy mother; the green sea instead

And rugged precipices brought thee forth,

For savage is thy heart. But if thou heed

The warning of some god, if thou hast heard

Aught which thy goddess-mother has received

From Jove, send me at least into the war,

And let me lead thy Myrmidons, that thus

The Greeks may have some gleam of hope. And give

The armor from thy shoulders. I will wear

Thy mail, and then the Trojans, at the sight,

May think I am Achilles, and may pause

From fighting, and the warlike sons of Greece,

Tired as they are, may breathe once more, and gain

A respite from the conflict. Our fresh troops

May easily drive back upon their town

The weary Trojans from our tents and fleet.”

So spake he, sighing; rash and blind, he asked

Death for himself and evil destiny.

Achilles the swift-footed also drew

A heavy sigh, and thus in turn he spake:⁠—

“What, O divine Patroclus, hast thou said?

I fear no omen yet revealed to me;

Nor has my goddess-mother told me aught

From Jove; but ever in my heart and soul

Rankles the painful sense of injury done

By one who, having greater power, deprives

An equal of his right, and takes away

The prize he won. This is my wrong, and this

The cause of all my bitterness of heart.

Her whom the sons of Greece bestowed on me

As my reward, a trophy of my spear,

After the sack of a fenced city⁠—her

Did Agamemnon, son of Atreus, take

Out of my hands, as if I were a wretch,

A worthless outcast. But let that affront

Be with the things that were. It is not well

To bear a grudge forever. I have said

My anger should not cease to burn until

The clamor of the battle and the assault

Should reach the fleet. But go thou and put on

My well-known armor; lead into the field

My Myrmidons, men that rejoice in war,

Since like a lowering cloud the men of Troy

Surround the fleet, and the Achaians stand

In narrow space close pressed beside the sea,

And all the city of Ilium flings itself

Against them, confident of victory,

Now that the glitter of my helm no more

Flashes upon their eyes. Yet very soon

Their flying host would fill the trenches here

With corpses, had but Agamemnon dealt

Gently with me; and now their squadrons close

Around our army. Now no more the spear

Is wielded by Tydides Diomed

In rescue of the Greeks; no more the shout

Of Agamemnon’s hated throat is heard;

But the man-queller Hector, lifting up

His voice, exhorts the Trojans, who, in throngs,

Raising the war-cry, fill the plain, and drive

The Greeks before them. Gallantly lead on

The charge, Patroclus; rescue our good ships;

Let not the enemy give them to the flames,

And cut us off from our desired return.

Follow my counsel; bear my words in mind;

So shalt thou win for me among the Greeks

Great honor and renown, and they shall bring

The beautiful maiden back with princely gifts.

When thou hast driven the assailants from the fleet,

Return thou hither. If the Thunderer,

Husband of Juno, suffer thee to gain

That victory, seek no further to prolong

The combat with the warlike sons of Troy,

Apart from me, lest I be brought to shame,

Nor, glorying in the battle and pursuit,

Slaying the Trojans as thou goest, lead

Thy men to Troy, lest from the Olympian mount

One of the ever-living gods descend

Against thee: Phoebus loves the Trojans well.

But come as soon as thou shalt see the ships

In safety; leave the foes upon the plain

Contending with each other. Would to Jove

The All-Father, and to Pallas, and the god

Who bears the bow, Apollo, that of all

The Trojans, many as they are, and all

The Greeks, not one might be reprieved from death,

While thou and I alone were left alive

To overthrow the sacred walls of Troy.”

So talked they with each other. Ajax, whelmed

Beneath a storm of darts, meantime but ill

Endured the struggle, for the will of Jove

And the fierce foe prevailed. His shining helm

Rang fearfully, as on his temples fell,

Stroke following after stroke, the weapons hurled

Against its polished studs. The buckler borne

Firmly on his left arm, and shifted oft

From side to side, had wearied it, and yet

The Trojans, pressing round him, could not drive,

With all their darts, the hero from his place.

Heavily heaved his panting chest; his limbs

Streamed with warm sweat; there was no breathing time;

On danger danger followed, toil on toil.

Now, Muses, dwellers of Olympus, tell

How first the galleys of the Greeks were fired.

Hector drew near, and smote with his huge sword

The ashen spear of Ajax just below

The socket of the blade, and cut the stem

In two. The son of Telamon in vain

Brandished the severed weapon, while afar

The brazen blade flew off, and ringing fell

To earth. Then Ajax in his mighty mind

Acknowledged that the gods were in the war,

And shuddered, knowing that the Thunderer

Was thwarting all his warlike purposes,

And willed the victory to Troy. The chief

Withdrew beyond the reach of spears, while fast

The eager enemy hurled the blazing brands

At the swift ship, and wrapped the stern in flames

Unquenchable. Achilles saw, and smote

His thigh, and spake: “Patroclus, noble friend

And knight, make haste: already I behold

The flames that rage with fury at the fleet.

Now, lest the enemy seize our ships and we

Be barred of our return, put quickly on

Thy armor; be my task to call the troops.”

He spake: Patroclus then in glittering brass

Arrayed himself; and first around his thighs

He put the beautiful greaves, and fastened them

With silver clasps; around his chest he bound

The breastplate of the swift Aeacides,

With star-like points, and richly chased; he hung

The sword with silver studs and blade of brass

Upon his shoulders, and with it the shield

Solid and vast; upon his gallant head

He placed the glorious helm with horse-hair plume,

That grandly waved on high. Two massive spears

He took, that fitted well his grasp, but left

The spear which great Achilles only bore,

Heavy and huge and strong, and which no arm

Among the Greeks save his could poise; his strength

Alone sufficed to wield it. ’Twas an ash

Which Chiron felled in Pelion’s top, and gave

To Peleus, that it yet might be the death

Of heroes. Then he called, to yoke with speed

The steeds, Automedon, whom he esteemed

Next to Achilles, that great scatterer

Of armies; for he found him ever firm

In battle, breasting faithfully its shock.

Automedon led forth to take the yoke

Xanthus and Balius, coursers that in speed

Were like the wind. Podargè brought them forth

To Zephyrus, while she, the Harpy, grazed

By ocean’s streams. Upon the outer side

He joined to them the noble Pedasus,

Brought by Achilles from the captured town

Where ruled Eëtion. Though of mortal stock,

Well might he match with those immortal steeds.

Meanwhile Achilles armed the Myrmidons,

Passing from tent to tent. Like ravening wolves,

Terribly strong, that, having slain among

The hills an antlered stag of mighty size,

Tear and devour it, while their jaws are stained

With its red blood, then gather in a herd

About some darkly flowing stream, and lap

The sullen water with their slender tongues,

And drop the clots of blood from their grim mouths

And, although gorged, are fierce and fearless still⁠—

So came the leaders of the Myrmidons,

In rushing crowds, about the valiant friend

Of swift Aeacides. Among them stood

Achilles, great in war, encouraging

The charioteers and warriors armed with shields.

Achilles, dear to Jupiter, had led

Fifty swift barques to Ilium, and in each

Were fifty men, companions at the oar.

O’er these he gave command to five; himself,

Supreme in power, was ruler over all.

One band the nobly armed Menestheus led,

Son of Spercheius. To that river-god,

Beautiful Polydora brought him forth,

Daughter of Peleus; she, a mortal maid,

Met an immortal’s love. Yet Borus, son

Of Periëres, owned the boy and took

The mother for his bride, with princely dower

Eudorus led the second band, a youth

Of warlike mould, whom Polymela bore,

Daughter of Phylas, graceful in the dance.

In secrecy she brought him forth, for once

The mighty Argus-queller saw the maid

Among the choir of those who danced and sang

At Dian’s festival, the huntress-queen,

Who bears the golden shafts; he saw and loved

And, climbing to her chamber, met by stealth

The damsel, and she bore a gallant son,

Eudorus, swift of foot and brave in war.

When Ilithyia, midwife goddess, gave

The boy to see the pleasant light of day,

The stout Echecleus, son of Actor, brought

The mother to his house, with liberal dower.

The aged Phylas reared the child she left

Tenderly as a son, and loved him well.

Pisander, warlike son of Msemalus,

Commanded the third squadron; none like him

Among the Myrmidons could wield the spear

Except Pelides. Phoenix, aged knight,

Led the fourth squadron. With the fifth and last

There came Alcimedon, Laerceus’ son,

As leader. When their ranks were duly formed,

Achilles spake to them in earnest words:⁠—

“Now, Myrmidons, forget no single word

Of all the threats ye uttered against Troy

Since first my wrath began. Ye blame me much,

And say: ‘Hard-hearted son of Peleus, sure

Thy mother must have suckled thee on gall;

For sternly thou dost keep us in the ships,

Unwilling as we are. We might, at least,

Crossing the sea, return in our good ships,

If thus thine anger is to last.’ These words

Ye utter oft when our assemblies meet,

And now the great occasion is at hand

Which ye have longed for; now let him whose heart

Is fearless meet the Trojans valiantly.”

He spake, and roused their courage and their might,

And as they heard their king they brought their rank

To closer order. As an architect

Builds up, with closely fitting stones, the wall

Of some tall mansion, proof against the blast,

So close were now the helms and bossy shields,

Shield leaned on shield, and helm on helm, and man

On man, and on the glittering helmet-cones

The horse-hair plumes with every motion touched

Each other, so compact the squadrons stood.

Two heroes, nobly armed, were at their head, to

Patroclus and Automedon, and both

Had but one thought⁠—to combat in the van.

Entering his tent, Achilles raised the lid

Of a fair coffer, beautifully wrought,

Which silver-footed Thetis placed on board

His barque, and filled with tunics, cloaks well lined,

And fleecy carpets. There he also kept

A goblet richly chased, from which no lip

Of man, save his, might drink the dark red wine,

Nor wine be poured to any god save Jove,

The mighty Father. This he took in hand

And purified with sulphur first, and then

Rinsed with clear water. Next, with washen hands,

He drew the dark red wine, and stood without,

In the open space, and, pouring out the wine,

Prayed with his eyes turned heavenward, not unheard

By Jupiter, who wields the thunderbolt.

“Dodonian Jove, Pelasgian, sovereign King,

Whose dwelling is afar, and who dost rule

Dodona winter-bound, where dwell thy priests,

The Selli, with unwashen feet, who sleep

Upon the ground! Thou once hast heard my prayer,

And thou hast honored me, and terribly

Avenged me on the Greeks. Accomplish yet

This one request of mine. I shall remain

Among the rows of ships, but in my stead

I send my comrade, who will lead to war

My vast array of Myrmidons. With him,

O God of Thunders, send the victory.

Make his heart bold; let even Hector learn

Whether my follower, though alone, can wage

Successful war, or conquer only then

When I go forth with him into the field

Of slaughter. When he shall have beaten back

The assailants from the fleet, let him return

Unharmed to my good galleys and to me.

With all his arms and all his valiant men.”

So spake he, offering prayer, and Jupiter,

The Great Disposer, hearkened. Half the prayer

The All-Father granted him, and half denied:

To drive the storm of battle from the fleet

He granted, but denied his friend’s return

In safety. When the warrior thus had prayed,

And poured the wine to Father Jove, he went

Into his tent again, and there replaced

The goblet in the coffer. Coming forth,

He stood before the entrance to behold

The terrible encounter of the hosts.

The newly armed, led by their gallant chief,

Patroclus, marched in warlike order forth,

And in high hope, to fall upon the foe.

As wasps, that by the wayside build their cells,

Angered from time to time by thoughtless boys⁠—

Whence mischief comes to many⁠—if by chance

Some passing traveller should unwittingly

Disturb them, all at once are on the wing,

And all attack him, to defend their young

So fearless and so fierce the Myrmidons

Poured from their fleet, and mighty was the din.

Patroclus with loud voice exhorted them:⁠—

“O Myrmidons, companions of the son

Of Peleus, bear in mind, my friends, your fame

For valor, and be men, that we who serve

Achilles, we who combat hand to hand,

May honor him by our exploits, and teach

Wide-ruling Agamemnon how he erred

Slighting the bravest warrior of the Greeks.”

These words awoke the courage and the might

Of all who heard them, and in close array

They fell upon the Trojans. Fearfully

The fleet around them echoed to the sound

Of Argives shouting. When the Trojans saw,

In glittering arms, Menoetius’ gallant son

And his attendant, every heart grew faint

With fear; the close ranks wavered; for they thought

That the swift son of Peleus at the fleet

Had laid aside his wrath, and was again

The friend of Agamemnon. Eagerly

They looked around for an escape from death.

Then first Patroclus cast his shining displeasure

Into the crowd before him, where they fought

Most fiercely round the stern of the good ship

Of brave Protesilaüs. There it smote

Pyraechmes, who had led from Amydon,

On the broad Axius, his Paeonian knights.

Through his right shoulder went the blade; he fell,

Heavily groaning, to the earth. His band

Of warriors from Paeonia, panic-struck,

Fled from Patroclus as they saw their chief

Cut off, their bravest in the battle-field.

So from the ship he drave the foe, and quenched

The blazing fire. There lay the half-burnt barque,

While with a mighty uproar fled the host

Of Troy, and from between the beaked ships

Poured after them with tumult infinite

The Greeks. As when from some high mountain-top

The God of Lightnings, Jupiter, sweeps off

The overshadowing cloud, at once appear

The watch-lowers and the headland heights and lawns

All in full light, and all the unmeasured depth

Of ether opens, so the Greeks, when thus

Their fleet was rescued from the hostile flame,

Breathed for a space; and yet they might not cease

From battle, for not everywhere alike

Were chased the Trojans from the dark-hulled ships

Before the Greeks, but struggled still to keep

The mastery, and yielded but to force.

Then in that scattered conflict of the chiefs

Each Argive slew a warrior. With his spear

The brave son of Menoetius made a thrust

At Areilochus, and pierced his thigh,

Just as he turned away, and through the part

Forced the keen weapon, splintering as it went

The bone, and brought the Trojan to the ground;

And warlike Menelaus pierced the breast

Of Thoas where the buckler left it bare,

And took his life. The son of Phyleus saw

Amphiclus rushing on, and with his spear

Met him and pierced his leg below the knee,

Where brawniest is the limb. The blade cut through

The sinews, and his eyes were closed in night.

There fought the sons of Nestor. One of these,

Antilochus, transfixed with his good spear

Atymnius through the flank, and brought him down

At his own feet. With sorrow Maris saw

His brother fall, and toward Antilochus

Flew to defend the corpse; but ere he strook,

The godlike Thrasymedes, with a blow

That missed not, smote his shoulder, tearing off

With the spear’s blade upon the upper arm

The muscles from the bone. With ringing arms

He fell, and darkness gathered o’er his eyes.

Thus were two brothers by two brothers slain,

And sent to Erebus; two valiant friends

Were they of King Sarpedon, and the sons

Of Amisodarus, who reared and fed

Chimera, the destroyer of mankind.

Oilean Ajax, springing forward, seized

On Cleobulus, for the struggling crowd

Hindered his flight. He took the Trojan’s life,

Smiting the neck with his huge-handled sword;

The blade grew warm with blood, and cruel fate

Brought darkness o’er the dying warrior’s eyes.

Peneleus fought with Lycon; each had cast

His spear and missed his aim, and now with swords

The twain encountered. Lycon dealt a stroke

Upon the crested helmet of his foe,

And the blade failed him, breaking at the hilt.

Meantime Peneleus smote beneath the ear

The neck of Lycon: deep the weapon went;

The severed head, held only by the skin,

Dropped to one side, and life forsook the limbs.

Meriones, o’ertaking Acamas,

In rapid flight, discharged a mighty blow

On his left shoulder as he climbed his car;

He fell, and darkness gathered o’er his eyes.

Then plunged Idomeneus the cruel spear

Into the mouth of Erymas. The blade

Passed on beneath the brain, and pierced the neck,

And there divided the white bones. It dashed

The teeth out; both the eyes were filled with blood,

Which gushed from mouth and nostrils as he breathed;

And the black cloud of death came over him.

Thus every Grecian leader slew his man.

As ravening wolves that spring on lambs and kids,

And seize them, wandering wide among the hills

Beyond the keeper’s care, and bear them off,

And rend with cruel fangs their helpless prey,

So fiercely did the Achaians fling themselves

Upon the men of Troy, who only thought

Of flight from that tumultuous strife, and quite

Forgot their wonted valor. All the while

The greater Ajax sought to hurl his spear

At Hector, clad in brazen mail, who yet,

Expert in battle, kept his ample chest

Hid by his bull’s-hide shield, and, though he heard

The hiss of darts and clash of spears, and saw

The fortune of the field deserting him,

Lingered to rescue his beloved friends.

As from the summit of Olympus spreads

A cloud into the sky that late was clear,

When Jove brings on the tempest, with such speed

In clamorous flight the Trojans left the fleet,

Yet passed they not the trench in seemly plight.

The rapid steeds of Hector bore him safe

Across with all his arms, while, left between

The high banks of the trench, the Trojan host

Struggled despairingly. The fiery steeds,

Harnessed to many a chariot, left it there

With broken pole. Patroclus followed close,

With mighty voice encouraging the Greeks,

And meditating vengeance on the foe,

That noisily ran on, and right and left

Were scattered, filling all the ways. The dust

Rose thick and high, and spread, and reached the clouds,

As with swift feet the Trojan coursers held

Their way to Ilium from the tents and ships.

Patroclus where he saw the wildest rout

Drave thither, shouting threats. Full many a chief

Fell under his own axle from his car,

And chariots with a crash were overthrown.

The swift, immortal horses which the gods

Bestowed on Peleus leaped the trench at once,

Eager to reach the plain. As eagerly

Patroclus longed to overtake and smite

Hector, whose steeds were hurrying him away.

As when, in autumn time, the dark-brown earth

Is whelmed with water from the stormy clouds,

When Jupiter pours down his heaviest rains,

Offended at men’s crimes who override

The laws by violence, and drive justice forth

From the tribunals, heedless of the gods

And their displeasure⁠—all the running streams

Are swelled to floods⁠—the furious torrents tear

The mountain slopes, and, plunging from the heights

With mighty roar, lay waste the works of mtn,

And fling themselves into the dark-blue sea⁠—

Thus with loud tumult fled the Trojan horse.

Patroclus, having cut the nearest bands

Of Troy in pieces, made his warriors turn

Back to the fleet, and, eager as they were,

Stopped the pursuit that led them toward the town.

Then, in the area bounded by the sea,

River, and lofty wall, he chased and smote

And took full vengeance. With his glittering spear

He wounded Pronoüs where the buckler left

The breast exposed; the Trojan with a clash

Fell to the earth, and life forsook his limbs.

Advancing in his might, Patroclus smote

Thestor, the son of Enops, as he sat

Cowering upon his sumptuous seat, o’ercome

With fear, and dropped the reins. Through his right cheek

Among the teeth Patroclus thrust his spear,

And o’er the chariot’s border drew him forth

With the spear’s stem. As when an angler sits

Upon a jutting rock, and from the sea

Draws a huge fish with line and gleaming hook,

So did Patroclus, with his shining spear,

Draw forth the panting Trojan from his car,

And shook him clear: he fell to earth and died.

As Eryalus then came swiftly on,

Patroclus flung a stone, and on the brow

Smote him; the Trojan’s head, beneath the blow,

Parted in two within the helm; he fell

Headlong to earth, a prey to ghastly death.

Then slew he Erymas, Amphoterus,

Epaltes, Pyris, Ipheus, Echius,

Tlepolemus, Damastor’s son, and next

Euippus; nor was Polymelus spared,

The son of Argias⁠—smitten all, and thrown,

Slain upon slain, along their mother earth.

And now Sarpedon, as he saw his friends,

The unbelted Lycians, falling by the hand

Of Menoetiades, exhorted thus

The gallant Lycians: “Shame upon you all,

My Lycians! Whither do you flee? Be bold!

For I myself will meet this man, and learn

Who walks the field in triumph thus, and makes

Such havoc in our squadrons; for his hand

Has laid full many a gallant warrior low.”

He spake, and from his car with all his arms

Sprang to the ground, while on the other side

Patroclus, as he saw him come, leaped down

And left his chariot. As on some tall rock

Two vultures, with curved talons and hooked beaks,

Fight screaming, so these two with furious cries

Advanced against each other. When the son

Of crafty Saturn saw them meet, his heart

Was touched with pity, and he thus bespake

His spouse and sister Juno: “Woe is me!

Sarpedon, most beloved of men, is doomed

To die, o’ercome by Menoetiades.

And now I halt between two purposes⁠—

Whether to bear him from this fatal fight,

Alive and safe, to Lycia’s fertile fields,

Or let him perish by his enemy’s hand.”

Imperial, large-eyed Juno answered thus:⁠—

“What words, dread son of Saturn, hast thou said!

Wouldst thou deliver from the common lot

Of death a mortal doomed long since by fate?

Do as thou wilt, but be thou sure of this⁠—

The other gods will not approve. And bear

In mind these words of mine. If thou shouldst send

Sarpedon home to Lycia safe, reflect

Some other god may claim the right, like thee,

To rescue his beloved son from death

In battle; for we know that in the war

Round Priam’s noble city are many sons

Of gods, who will with vehement anger see

Thy interposing hand. Yet if he be

So dear to thee, and thou dost pity him,

Let him in mortal combat be o’ercome

By Menoetiades, and when the breath

Of life has left his frame, give thou command

To Death and gentle Sleep to bear him hence

To the broad realm of Lycia. There his friends

And brethren shall perform the funeral rites;

There shall they build him up a tomb, and rear

A column⁠—honors that become the dead.”

She ceased, nor did the All-Father disregard

Her words. He caused a bloody dew to fall

Upon the earth in sorrow for the son

Whom well he loved, and whom Patroclus soon

Should slay upon the fertile plain of Troy,

Far from the pleasant land that saw his birth.

The warriors now drew near. Patroclus slew

The noble Thrasymelus, who had been

Sarpedon’s valiant comrade in the war.

Below the belt he smote him, and he fell

Lifeless. Sarpedon threw his shining lance;

It missed, but struck the courser Pedasus

In the right shoulder. With a groan he fell

In dust, and, moaning, breathed his life away.

Then the two living horses sprang apart,

And the yoke creaked, and the entangled reins

Were useless, fastened to the fallen horse.

Automedon, the mighty spearman, saw

The remedy, and from his brawny thigh

He drew his sword, and cut the outside horse

Loose from his fellows. They again were brought

Together, and obeyed the reins once more;

And the two chiefs renewed the mortal fight.

And now, again, Sarpedon’s shining spear

Was vainly flung; the point, in passing o’er

Patroclus’s left shoulder, gave no wound.

In turn, Patroclus, hurling not in vain

His weapon, smote him where the midriff’s web

Holds the tough heart. He fell as falls an oak

Or poplar or tall pine, which workmen hew

Among the mountains with their sharpened steel

To frame a ship. So he before his steeds

And chariot fell upon the bloody dust,

And grasped it with his hands, and gnashed his teeth.

As when a lion coming on a herd

Seizes, amid the crowd of stamping beeves,

A tawny and high-mettled bull, that dies

Bellowing in fury in the lion’s jaws⁠—

Like him, indignant to be overcome,

The leader of the bucklered Lycian host,

Laid prostrate by Patroclus, called by name

His dear companion, and addressed him thus:⁠—

“Beloved Glaucus, mighty among men!

Now prove thyself a hero, now be bold.

Now, if thou have a warrior’s spirit, think

Of nought but battle. Go from rank to rank,

Exhorting all the Lycian chiefs to fight

Around Sarpedon. Combat thou for me

With thy good spear, for I shall be to thee

A shame and a reproach through all thy days,

If here the Greeks, beside whose ships I fall,

Bear off my armor. Stand thou firm, and stir

Thy people up to combat valiantly.”

While he was speaking, death crept o’er his sight

And stopped his breath. Patroclus set his heel

Against his bosom, and plucked out the spear;

The midriff followed it, and thus he drew

The life and weapon forth at once. Meantime

The Myrmidons held fast the snorting steeds,

That, loosened from the Lycian’s car, were bent

On flight. The grief of Glaucus as he heard

His comrade’s voice was bitter, and his heart

Ached at the thought that he could bring no aid.

He seized his arm and pressed it in his grasp,

For there the wound which Teucer’s arrow left,

When Glaucus stormed the wall and Teucer’s shafts

Defended it, still pained him grievously,

And thus he prayed to Phoebus, archer-god:⁠—

“Give ear, O king! wherever thou abide,

In the opulent realm of Lycia, or in Troy;

For everywhere thou nearest those who cry

To thee in sorrow, and great sorrow now

Is on me. Grievous is the wound I bear;

Sharp are the pains that pierce my hand; the blood

Cannot be stanched; my very arm becomes

A burden; I can wield the spear no more

With a firm grasp, nor combat with the foe.

A mighty chief⁠—Sarpedon, son of Jove⁠—

Has perished, and the father came not nigh

To aid his son. Yet come thou to my aid,

O monarch-god! and heal this painful wound,

And give me strength to rally to the fight

The Lycian warriors, and myself contend

Valiantly for the rescue of the dead.”

So prayed he: Phoebus hearkened, and at once

Assuaged the pain, and stanched the purple blood

In the deep wound, and filled his frame with strength.

The warrior felt the change, rejoiced to know

That with such friendly speed the mighty god

Granted his prayer. And first he went among

The Lycian chiefs, exhorting them to wage

Fierce battle for Sarpedon. Then he sought,

Walking with rapid strides, the Trojan chiefs,

Agenor, nobly born, Polydamas,

The son of Panthoüs, Aeneas next,

And Hector mailed in brass. By him he stood,

And thus accosted him with wingèd words:⁠—

“O Hector, thou art careless of the fate

Of thine allies, who for thy sake, afar

From those they love, and from their native land,

Pour out their lives; thou bringest them no aid.

Sarpedon lies in death, the chief who led

The bucklered Lycians, who with justice swayed

The realm of Lycia, and defended it

With valor. Him hath brazen Mars beneath

The weapon of Patroclus smitten down.

Come then, my friends, repulse we gallantly

These Myrmidons; else will they bear away

His armor and insult his corpse, to avenge

The havoc we have made among the Greeks

Who perished by our weapons at the fleet.”

He spake, and grief immitigable seized

The Trojans; for the slain, though stranger-born,

Had been a pillar of the realm of Troy,

And many were the troops that followed him,

And he was bravest of them all in war.

Then rushed the Trojans fiercely on the Greeks,

With Hector, sorrowing for Sarpedon’s fall,

Leading them on, while the bold-hearted chief,

Patroclus Menoetiades, aroused

The courage of the Greeks. He thus addressed

The warriors Ajax, eager like himself

For combat: “Be it now your welcome task,

O warriors Ajax, to drive back the foe;

He who first sprang across the Grecian wall,

Sarpedon, lies a corpse, and we must now

Dishonor the dead chief, and strip from him

His armor, and strike down with our good spears

Whoever of his comrades shall resist.”

He spake, and all were resolute to beat

The enemy back; and when, on either side,

Trojans and Lycians, Myrmidons and Greeks,

Had put their phalanxes in firm array,

They closed, with dreadful shouts and horrid clash

Of arms, in fight around the dead, while Jove

Drew o’er that deadly fray an awful veil

Of darkness, that the struggle for the corpse

Of his dear son might rage more furiously.

The Trojans first drave back the dark-eyed Greeks,

For one was in the onset smitten down,

Not the least valiant of the Myrmidons⁠—

The son of brave Agacles, nobly born

Epeigeus, who aforetime, when he ruled

The populous Budeium, having slain

A noble kinsman, fled a suppliant

To Peleus and the silver-footed queen,

Thetis, his consort, and by them was sent,

With terrible Achilles, to the coast

Of courser-breeding Ilium and the siege

Of Troy. As now he stooped to seize the dead,

Illustrious Hector smote him with a stone

Upon the forehead, cleaving it in two

In the strong helmet; headlong on the corse

He fell, and cruel death crept over him.

With grief Patroclus saw his comrade slain,

And broke his way among the foremost ranks.

As a swift hawk that chases through the air

Starlings and daws, so didst thou dart among

Trojans and Lycians, for thy wrath was roused,

O knight Patroclus! by thy comrade’s death.

And now his hand struck Sthenelaüs down,

The dear son of Ithaemenes; he flung

A stone that crushed the sinews of the neck.

Back drew illustrious Hector, and with him

The warriors who were fighting in the van.

As far as one can send a javelin,

When men contend in martial games, or meet

Their deadly enemies in war, so far

Withdrew the Trojans, and the Greeks pursued.

The leader of the bucklered Lycian host,

Glaucus, was first to turn against his foes.

He slew the brave Bathycles, the dear son

Of Chalcon, who in Hellas had his home,

And was the richest of the Myrmidons.

The Lycian, turning on him suddenly

As he drew near pursuing, sent his spear

Right through his breast, and with a clash he fell.

Great was the sorrow of the Greeks to see

That valiant warrior fall; the men of Troy

Exulted, and pressed round him in a crowd.

Nor lacking was the valor of the Greeks,

Who met them manfully. Meriones

Struck down a Trojan chief, Laogonus,

Onetor’s valiant son. His father stood

Priest at the altar of Idaean Jove,

And like a god was honored by the realm.

Below the jaw and ear Meriones

Smote him, and instantly the life forsook

His limbs, and fearful darkness shrouded him.

Straight at Meriones Aeneas aimed

His brazen spear to smite him, as he came,

Beneath his buckler; but the Greek beheld

The weapon in the air, and, stooping low,

Escaped it; over him it passed, and stood

Fixed in the earth behind him, where its stem

Trembled, for now the rapid steel had spent

Its force. As thus it quivered in the ground,

Aeneas, who perceived that it had left

His powerful hand in vain, was vexed, and said:

“Had I but struck thee, dancer as thou art,

Meriones, my spear had suddenly

Ended thy dancing.” Then Meriones,

The skilful spearman, answered: “Thou art brave,

But thou wilt find it hard to overcome

The might of all who gather to repulse

Thy onset. Thou art mortal, and if I,

Aiming at thee with my good spear, should pierce

Thy bosom, valiant as thou art and proud

Of thy strong arm, thy death would bring me praise,

And send thy soul where gloomy Pluto dwells.”

He spake; the brave Patroclus heard, and thus

Rebuked him: “Why wilt thou, Meriones,

With all thy valor, stand to make a speech?

The foe, my friend, will not be forced to leave

The corpse by insults; some of them must die.

In deeds the issue of a battle lies;

Words are for counsel. Now is not the time

To utter swelling phrases, but to fight.”

He ended, and went on; the godlike man

Followed his steps. As when from mountain dells

Rises, and far is heard, a crashing sound

Where woodmen fell the trees, such was the noise

From those who fought on that wide plain⁠—the din

Of brass, of leather, and of tough bull’s-hide

Smitten with swords and two-edged spears. No eye,

Although of keenest sight, would then have known

Noble Sarpedon, covered as he lay,

From head to foot, with weapons, blood, and dust;

And still the warriors thronged around the dead.

As when in spring-time at the cattle-stalls

Flies gather, humming, when the milk is drawn,

Round the full pails, so swarmed around the corpse

The combatants; nor once did Jove withdraw

His bright eyes from the stubborn fray, but still

Gazed, planning how Patroclus should be slain.

Uncertain whether, in the desperate strife

Over the great Sarpedon, to permit

Illustrious Hector with his spear to lay

The hero dead, and make his arms a spoil,

Or spare him yet a while, to make the war

More bloody. As he pondered, this seemed best:

That the brave comrade of Achilles first

Should put to flight the Trojans and their chief,

Hector the brazen-mailed, pursuing them

Toward Troy with slaughter. To this end he sent

Into the heart of Hector panic fear,

Who climbed his car and fled, and bade the rest

Flee also, for he saw how Jove had weighed

The fortunes of the day. Now none remained,

Not even the gallant Lycians, when they saw

Their monarch lying wounded to the heart

Among a heap of slain; for Saturn’s son

In that day’s strife had caused a multitude

To fall in death. Now when the Greeks had stripped

Sarpedon of the glittering brazen mail,

The brave son of Menoetius bade his friends

Convey it to the hollow ships. Meanwhile

The Cloud-compeller spake to Phoebus thus:⁠—

“Go now, beloved Phoebus, and withdraw

Sarpedon from the weapons of the foe;

Cleanse him from the dark blood, and bear him thence,

And lave him in the river-stream, and shed

Ambrosia o’er him. Clothe him then in robes

Of heaven, consigning him to Sleep and Death,

Twin brothers, and swift bearers of the dead,

And they shall lay him down in Lycia’s fields,

That broad and opulent realm. There shall his friends

And kinsmen give him burial, and shall rear

His tomb and column⁠—honors due the dead.”

He spake: Apollo instantly obeyed

His father, leaving Ida’s mountain height,

And sought the field of battle, and bore off

Noble Sarpedon from the enemy’s spears,

And laved him in the river-stream, and shed

Ambrosia o’er him. Then in robes of heaven

He clothed him, giving him to Sleep and Death,

Twin brothers, and swift bearers of the dead,

And they, with speed conveying it, laid down

The corpse in Lycia’s broad and opulent realm.

Meantime Patroclus, urging on his steeds

And charioteer, pursued, to his own hurt,

Trojans and Lycians. Madman! Had he then

Obeyed the counsel which Pelides gave,

The bitter doom of death had not been his.

But stronger than the purposes of men

Are those of Jove, who puts to flight the brave,

And takes from them the victory, though he

Impelled them to the battle; and he now

Urged on Patroclus to prolong the fight.

Who first, when thus the gods decreed thy death,

Fell by thy hand, Patroclus, and who last?

Adrastus first, Autonoüs next, and then

Echeclus; then died Perimus, the son

Of Meges; then with Melanippus fell

Epistor; next was Elasus o’ercome,

And Mulius, and Pylartes. These he slew,

While all the rest betook themselves to flight.

Then had the Greeks possessed themselves of Troy,

With all its lofty portals, by the hand

And valor of Patroclus, for his rage

Was terrible beyond the rage of all

Who bore the spear, had not Apollo stood

On a strong tower to menace him with ill,

And aid the Trojans. Thrice Patroclus climbed

A shoulder of the lofty wall, and thrice

Apollo, striking his immortal hands

Against the glittering buckler, thrust him down;

And when, for the fourth time, the godlike man

Essayed to mount the wall, the archer-god,

Phoebus, encountered him with fearful threats:

“Noble Patroclus, hold thy hand, nor deem

The city of the warlike Trojans doomed

To fall beneath thy spear, nor by the arm

Of Peleus’ son, though mightier far than thou.”

He spake; Patroclus, fearful of the wrath

Of the archer-god, withdrew, and stood afar,

While Hector, at the Scaean gates, restrained

His coursers, doubtful whether to renew

The fight by mingling with the crowd again,

Or gather all his host within the walls

By a loud summons. As he pondered thus,

Apollo stood beside him in the form

Of Asius, a young warrior and a brave,

Uncle of Hector, the great horse-tamer,

And brother of Queen Hecuba, and son

Of Dymas, who in Phrygia dwelt beside

The streams of the Sangarius. Putting on

His shape and aspect, thus Apollo said:⁠—

“Why, Hector, dost thou pause from battle thus?

Nay, it becomes thee not. Were I in might

Greater than thou, as I am less, full soon

Wouldst thou repent this shrinking from the war.

Come boldly on, and urge thy firm-paced steeds

Against Patroclus; slay him on the field,

And Phoebus will requite thee with renown.”

He spake, and mingled in the hard-fought fray,

While noble Hector bade his charioteer,

The brave Cebriones, ply well the lash,

And join the battle. Phoebus went before,

Entering the crowd, and spread dismay among

The Greeks, and gave the glory of the hour

To Hector and the Trojans. Little heed

Paid Hector to the rest, nor raised his arm

To slay them, but urged on his firm-paced steeds

To meet Patroclus, who, beholding him,

Leaped from his car. In his left hand he held

A spear, and with the other lifting up

A white, rough stone, the largest he could grasp,

Flung it with all its force. It flew not wide,

Nor flew in vain, but smote Cebriones,

The warlike chief who guided Hector’s steeds,

A spurious son of Priam the renowned.

The sharp stone smote his forehead as he held

The reins, and crushed both eyebrows in; the bone

Resisted not the blow; the warrior’s eyes

Fell in the dust before his very feet.

Down from the sumptuous seat he plunged, as dives

A swimmer, and the life forsook his limbs.

And this, Patroclus, was thy cruel jest:⁠—

“Truly a nimble man is this who dives

With such expertness. Were this, now, the sea,

Where fish are bred, and he were searching it

For oysters, he might get an ample store

For many men, in leaping from a ship,

Though in a storm, so skilfully he dives

Even from the chariot to the plain. No doubt

There must be divers in the town of Troy.”

He spake, and sprang upon Cebriones.

With all a lion’s fury, which attacks

The stables and is wounded in the breast,

And perishes through his own daring; thus,

Patroclus, didst thou fall upon the slain,

While Hector, hastening also, left his steeds,

And both contended for Cebriones.

As lions for the carcass of a deer

Fight on a mountain summit, hungry both,

And both unyielding, thus two mighty men

Of war, Patroclus Menuetiades

And glorious Hector, eager each to smite

His adversary with the cruel spear,

Fought for Cebriones. The slain man’s head

Was seized by Hector’s powerful hand, whose grasp

Relaxed not, while Patroclus held the foot;

And, thronging to the spot, the other Greeks

And Trojans mingled in the desperate strife.

As when the east wind and the south contend

In the open mountain grounds, and furiously

Assail the deep old woods of beech and ash

And barky cornel, flinging their long boughs

Against each other with a mighty roar,

And crash of those that break, so did the Greeks

And Trojans meet with mutual blows, and slay

Each other; nor had either host a thought

Of shameful flight. Full many a trenchant spear

Went to its mark beside Cebriones,

And many a wingèd arrow that had left

The bowstring; many a massive stone was hurled

Against the ringing bucklers, as they fought

Around the dead, while he, the mighty, lay

Stretched on the ground amid the eddying dust,

Forgetful of his art of horsemanship.

While yet the sun was climbing to his place

In middle heaven, the men of either host

Were smitten by the weapons, and in both

The people fell; but when he stooped to the west

The Greeks prevailed, and from that storm of darts

And tumult of the Trojans they drew forth

Cebriones, and stripped him of his arms.

Still rushed Patroclus onward, bent to wreak

His fury on the Trojans. Fierce as Mars,

He charged their squadrons thrice with fearful shouts,

And thrice he laid nine warriors in the dust.

But as with godlike energy he made

The fourth assault, then clearly was it seen,

Patroclus, that thy life was near its end,

For Phoebus terribly in that fierce strife

Encountered thee. Patroclus saw him not

Advancing in the tumult, for he moved

Unseen in darkness. Coming close behind,

He smote, with open palm, the hero’s back

Between the ample shoulders, and his eyes

Reeled with the blow, while Phoebus from his head

Struck the tall helm, that, clanking, rolled away

Under the horses’ feet; its crest was soiled

With blood and dust, though never till that hour

Had dust defiled its horse-hair plume; for once

That helmet guarded an illustrious head,

The glorious brows of Peleus’ son, and now

Jove destined it for Hector, to be worn

In battle; and his death was also near.

The spear Patroclus wielded, edged with brass,

Long, tough, and huge, was broken in his hands,

And his broad buckler, dropping with its band,

Lay on the ground, while Phoebus, son of Jove,

Undid the fastenings of his mail. With mind

Bewildered, and with powerless limbs, he stood

As thunderstruck. Then a Dardanian named

Euphorbus, son of Panthoüs, who excelled

His comrades in the wielding of the spear,

The race, and horsemanship, approaching, smote

Patroclus in the back with his keen spear,

Between the shoulder-blades. Already he

Had dashed down twenty warriors from their cars,

Guiding his own, a learner in the art

Of war. The first was he who threw a lance

At thee, Patroclus, yet o’ercome thee not;

For, plucking from thy back its ashen stem,

He fled, and mingled with the crowd, nor dared

Await thy coming, though thou wert unarmed,

While, weakened by that wound and by the blow

Given by the god, Patroclus turned and sought

Shelter from danger in the Grecian ranks;

But Hector, when he saw the gallant Greek

Thus wounded and retreating, left his place

Among the squadrons, and, advancing, pierced

Patroclus with his spear, below the belt,

Driving the weapon deep. The hero fell

With clashing mail, and all the Greeks beheld

His fall with grief. As when a lion bears

A stubborn boar to earth, what time the twain

Fight on the mountains for a slender spring,

Both thirsty and both fierce, the lion’s strength

Lays prone his panting foe, so Priam’s son

Slew, fighting hand to hand, the valiant Greek,

Son of Menoetius, who himself had slain

So many. Hector gloried over him

With wingèd words: “Patroclus, thou didst think

To lay our city waste, and carry off

Our women captive in thy ships to Greece.

Madman! In their defence the fiery steeds

Of Hector sweep the battle-field, and I,

Mightiest of all the Trojans, with the spear

Will guard them from the doom of slavery.

Now vultures shall devour thee, wretched youth!

Achilles, mighty though he be, has brought

No help to thee, though doubtless when he sent

Thee forth to battle, and remained within,

He charged thee thus: ‘Patroclus, flower of knights,

Return not to the fleet until thy hand

Hath torn the bloody armor from the corpse

Of the man-queller Hector.’ So he spake,

And filled with idle hopes thy foolish heart.”

Then thou, Patroclus, with a faltering voice,

Didst answer thus: “Now, Hector, while thou mayst,

Utter thy boast in swelling words, since Jove

And Phoebus gave the victory to thee.

Easily have they vanquished me; ’twas they

Who stripped the armor from my limbs, for else,

If twenty such as thou had met me, all

Had perished by my spear. A cruel fate

O’ertakes me, aided by Latona’s son,

The god, and by Euphorbus among men.

Thou who shalt take my spoil art but the third;

Yet hear my words, and keep them in thy thought.

Not long shalt thou remain alive; thy death

By violence is at hand, and thou must fall,

Slain by the hand of great Aeacides.”

While he was speaking, death stole over him

And veiled his senses, while the soul forsook

His limbs and flew to Hades, sorrowing

For its sad lot, to part from life in youth

And prime of strength. Illustrious Hector thus

Answered the dying man: “Why threaten me,

Patroclus, with an early death? Who knows

That he, thy friend, whom fair-haired Thetis bore,

Achilles, may not sooner lose his life,

Slain by my spear?” He spake, and set his heel

Upon the slain, and from the wound drew forth

His brazen spear and pushed the corpse aside,

And with the weapon hurried on to smite

Godlike Automedon, the charioteer

Of swift Aeacides; but him the steeds

Fleet-footed and immortal, which the gods

Bestowed on Peleus, swiftly bore away.