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.

BOOK XVI.

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.

BOOK XVI.

  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