While others occupy our station here,
But from the shores of Argos far remote
Our camp is, where the Trojans arm’d complete
895
Swarm on the plain, and Ocean shuts us in.
Our hands must therefore save us, not our heels
He said, and furious with
his spear again
Press’d them, and whatsoever Trojan came,
Obsequious to the will of Hector, arm’d
900
With fire to burn the fleet, on his spear’s
point
Ajax receiving pierced him, till at length
Twelve in close fight fell by his single arm.
THE ILIAD.
ARGUMENT OF THE
SIXTEENTH BOOK.
Achilles, at the suit of Patroclus, grants him his
own armor, and permission to lead the Myrmidons to
battle. They, sallying, repulse the Trojans.
Patroclus slays Sarpedon, and Hector, when Apollo had
first stripped off his armor and Euphorbus wounded
him, slays Patroclus.
Such contest for that gallant bark they
waged.
Meantime Patroclus, standing at the side
Of the illustrious Chief Achilles, wept
Fast as a crystal fountain from the height
Of some rude rock pours down its rapid[1]
stream. 5
Divine Achilles with compassion moved
Mark’d him, and in wing’d
accents thus began.[2]
Who weeps Patroclus like an
infant girl
Who, running at her mother’s side,
entreats
To be uplifted in her arms? She grasps
10
Her mantle, checks her haste, and looking
up
With tearful eyes, pleads earnest to be
borne;
So fall, Patroclus! thy unceasing tears.
Bring’st thou to me or to my people
aught
Afflictive? Hast thou mournful tidings
learn’d 15
Prom Phthia, trusted to thy ear alone?
Menoetius, son of Actor, as they say,
Still lives; still lives his Myrmidons
among
Peleus AEacides; whom, were they dead,
With cause sufficient we should both deplore.
20
Or weep’st thou the Achaians at
the ships
Perishing, for their outrage done to me?
Speak. Name thy trouble. I would
learn the cause
To whom, deep-sorrowing, thou
didst reply,
Patroclus! Oh Achilles, Peleus’
son! 25
Noblest of all our host! bear with my
grief,
Since such distress hath on the Grecians
fallen.
The bravest of their ships disabled lie,
Some wounded from afar, some hand to hand.
Diomede, warlike son of Tydeus, bleeds,
30
Gall’d by a shaft; Ulysses, glorious
Chief,
And Agamemnon suffer by the spear,
And brave Eurypylus an arrow-point
Bears in his thigh. These all, are
now the care
Of healing hands. Oh thou art pity-proof,
35
Achilles! be my bosom ever free
