his hold,
  Patroclus, next, his feet, while all beside
  Of either host in furious battle join’d. 
    As when the East wind and the South contend
  To shake some deep wood on the mountain’s side, 935
  Or beech, or ash, or rugged cornel old. 
  With stormy violence the mingled boughs
  Smite and snap short each other, crashing loud;
  So, Trojans and Achaians, mingling, slew
  Mutual, while neither felt a wish to fly. 940
  Around Cebriones stood many a spear,
  And many a shaft sent smartly from the nerve
  Implanted deep, and many a stone of grasp
  Enormous sounded on their batter’d shields
  Who fought to gain him.  He, in eddies lost 945
  Of sable dust, with his huge trunk huge space
  O’erspread, nor steeds nor chariots heeded more. 
    While yet the sun ascending climb’d the heavens,
  Their darts flew equal, and the people fell;
  But when he westward journey’d, by a change 950
  Surpassing hope the Grecians then prevail’d. 
  They drew Cebriones the hero forth
  From all those weapons, and his armor stripp’d
  At leisure, distant from the battle’s roar. 
  Then sprang Patroclus on the Trojan host; 955
  Thrice, like another Mars, he sprang with shouts
  Tremendous, and nine warriors thrice he slew. 
  But when the fourth time, demon-like, he rush’d
  Against them, then, oh then, too manifest
  The consummation of thy days approach’d 960
  Patroclus! whom Apollo, terror-clad
  Met then in battle.  He the coming God
  Through all that multitude knew not, such gloom
  Impenetrable him involved around. 
  Behind him close he stood, and with his palms 965
  Expanded on the spine and shoulders broad
  Smote him; his eyes swam dizzy at the stroke. 
  Then Phoebus from his head his helmet dash’d
  To earth; sonorous at the feet it roll’d
  Of many a prancing steed, and all the crest 970
  Defilement gather’d gross of dust and blood,
  Then first; till then, impossible; for how
  Should dust the tresses of that helmet shame
  With which Achilles fighting fenced his head
  Illustrious, and his graceful brows divine? 975
  But Jove now made it Hector’s; he awhile
  Bore it, himself to swift perdition doom’d
  His spear brass-mounted, ponderous, huge and long,
  Fell shiver’d from his grasp.  His shield that swept
  His ancle, with its belt dropp’d from his arm, 980
  And Phoebus loosed the corselet from his breast. 
  Confusion seized his brain; his noble limbs
  Quaked under him, and panic-stunn’d he stood. 
  Then came a Dardan Chief, who from behind
  Enforced a pointed lance into his back 985
  Between the shoulders; Panthus’