son was he,
  Euphorbus, famous for equestrian skill,
  For spearmanship, and in the rapid race
  Past all of equal age.  He twenty men
  (Although a learner yet of martial feats, 990
  And by his steeds then first to battle borne)
  Dismounted.  He, Patroclus, mighty Chief! 
  First threw a lance at thee, which yet life
  Quell’d not; then snatching hasty from the wound
  His ashen beam, he ran into the crowd, 995
  Nor dared confront in fight even the unarm’d
  Patroclus.  But Patroclus, by the lance,
  And by the stroke of an immortal hand
  Subdued, fell back toward his ranks again. 
  Then, soon as Hector the retreat perceived 1000
  Of brave Patroclus wounded, issuing forth
  From his own phalanx, he approach’d and drove
  A spear right through his body at the waist. 
  Sounding he fell.  Loud groan’d Achaia’s host. 
  As when the lion and the sturdy boar 1005
  Contend in battle on the mountain-tops
  For some scant rivulet, thirst-parch’d alike,
  Ere long the lion quells the panting boar;
  So Priameian Hector, spear in hand,
  Slew Menoetiades the valiant slayer 1010
  Of multitudes, and thus in accents wing’d,
  With fierce delight exulted in his fall. 
    It was thy thought, Patroclus, to have laid
  Our city waste, and to have wafted hence
  Our wives and daughters to thy native land, 1015
  Their day of liberty for ever set. 
  Fool! for their sakes the feet of Hector’s steeds
  Fly into battle, and myself excel,
  For their sakes, all our bravest of the spear,
  That I may turn from them that evil hour 1020
  Necessitous.  But thou art vulture’s food,
  Unhappy youth! all valiant as he is,
  Achilles hath no succor given to thee,
  Who when he sent the forth whither himself
  Would not, thus doubtless gave thee oft in charge:  1025
  Ah, well beware, Patroclus, glorious Chief! 
  That thou revisit not these ships again,
  Till first on hero-slaughterer Hector’s breast
  Thou cleave his bloody corselet.  So he spake,
  And with vain words thee credulous beguiled. 1030
    To whom Patroclus, mighty Chief, with breath
  Drawn faintly, and dying, thou didst thus reply. 
  Now, Hector, boast! now glory! for the son
  Of Saturn and Apollo, me with ease
  Vanquishing, whom they had themselves disarm’d, 1035
  Have made the victory thine; else, twenty such
  As thou, had fallen by my victorious spear. 
  Me Phoebus and my ruthless fate combined
  To slay; these foremost; but of mortal men
  Euphorbus, and thy praise is only third. 1040
  I tell thee also, and within thy heart
  Repose it deep—­thou shalt not