His noble comrades raised and bore away The great Sarpedon from the battle-field, Trailing the long spear with them. Bitter pain It gave him; in their haste they marked it not, Nor thought to draw the ashen weapon forth, That he might mount the car; so eagerly His anxious bearers hurried from the war.
On the other side the well-armed Greeks took up The slain Tlepolemus, to bear him thence. The great Ulysses, large of soul, beheld, And felt his spirit moved, as anxiously He pondered whether to pursue the son Of Jove the Thunderer, or turn and take The life of many a Lycian. Yet to slay Jove’s mighty son was not his destiny, And therefore Pallas moved him to engage The crowd of Lycian warriors. Then he slew Coeranus and Alastor, Chromius, Alcander, Halius, and Prytanis Noëmon; and yet more the noble Greek Had slain, if crested Hector, mighty chief, Had not perceived the havoc and, arrayed In shining armor, hurried to the van Of battle, carrying terror to the hearts Of the Achaians. As he saw him near, Sarpedon was rejoiced, yet sadly said:—
“O son of Priam, leave me not a prey To these Achaians. Aid me, let me breathe My latest breath in Troy, since I no more Can hope, returning to my native land, To gladden my dear wife and little son.”
He spake, and crested Hector answered not, Still pressing forward, eager to drive back The Greeks in quick retreat, and take the life Of many a foe. Then did the noble band Who bore the great Sarpedon lay him down Beneath a shapely beech, a tree of Jove The Aegis-bearer. There stout Pelagon, His well-beloved comrade, from his thigh Drew forth the sharp blade of the ashen spear. Then the breath left him, and his eyes were closed In darkness; but the light came back again As, breathing over him, the fresh north wind Revived the spirit in his laboring breast.