Arms of excelling beauty for my son. 
She said; they plunged into the waves again, 180
And silver-footed Thetis, to the heights
Olympian soaring swiftly to obtain
Arms for renown’d Achilles, disappear’d. 
Meantime, with infinite uproar the Greeks
From Hector’s hero-slaying arm had fled 185
Home to their galleys station’d on the banks
Of Hellespont.  Nor yet Achaia’s sons
Had borne the body of Patroclus clear
From flight of darts away, but still again
The multitude of warriors and of steeds 190
Came on, by Priameian Hector led
Rapid as fire.  Thrice noble Hector seized
His ancles from behind, ardent to drag
Patroclus, calling to his host the while;
But thrice, the two Ajaces, clothed with might, 195
Shock’d and repulsed him reeling.  He with force
Fill’d indefatigable, through his ranks
Issuing, by turns assail’d them, and by turns
Stood clamoring, yet not a step retired;
But as the hinds deter not from his prey 200
A tawny lion by keen hunger urged,
So would not both Ajaces, warriors bold,
Intimidate and from the body drive
Hector; and he had dragg’d him thence and won
Immortal glory, but that Iris, sent 205
Unseen by Jove and by the powers of heaven,
From Juno, to Achilles brought command
That he should show himself.  Full near she drew,
And in wing’d accents thus the Chief address’d. 
Hero! most terrible of men, arise! 210
protect Patroclus, for whose sake the war
Stands at the fleet of Greece.  Mutual prevails
The slaughter, these the dead defending, those
Resolute hence to drag him to the gates
Of wind-swept Ilium.  But beyond them all 215
Illustrious Hector, obstinate is bent
To win him, purposing to lop his head,
And to exhibit it impaled on high. 
Thou then arise, nor longer on the ground
Lie stretch’d inactive; let the thought with shame 220
Touch thee, of thy Patroclus made the sport
Of Trojan dogs, whose corse, if it return
Dishonored home, brings with it thy reproach. 
To whom Achilles matchless in the race. 
Iris divine! of all the Gods, who sent thee? 225
Then, thus, the swift ambassadress of heaven. 
By Juno sent I come, consort of Jove. 
Nor knows Saturnian Jove high-throned, himself,
My flight, nor any of the Immortal Powers,
Tenants of the Olympian heights snow-crown’d. 230
Her answer’d then Pelides, glorious Chief. 
How shall I seek the fight? they have my arms. 
My mother charged me also to abstain
From battle, till she bring me armor new
Which she hath promised me from Vulcan’s hand. 235
Meantime, whose armor else might serve my need
I know not, save perhaps alone the shield