This vain attempt the chief no longer bears, But round his hollow temples and his ears His buckler beats: the son of Neptune, stunn’d With these repeated buffets, quits his ground; A sickly sweat succeeds, and shades of night; Inverted nature swims before his sight: The insulting victor presses on the more, And treads the steps the vanquished trod before, Nor rest nor respite gives. A stone there lay Behind his trembling foe, and stopp’d his way: Achilles took the advantage which he found, O’erturn’d, and push’d him backward on the ground. His buckler held him under, while he press’d With both his knees above his panting breast: Unlaced his helm: about his chin the twist He tied; and soon the strangled soul dismiss’d.

With eager haste he went to strip the dead: The vanish’d body from his arms was fled: His sea-god sire, to immortalize his frame, Had turn’d it to the bird that bears his name.