horses sprang apart, And the yoke creaked, and the entangled reins Were useless, fastened to the fallen horse. Automedon, the mighty spearman, saw The remedy, and from his brawny thigh He drew his sword, and cut the outside horse Loose from his fellows. They again were brought Together, and obeyed the reins once more; And the two chiefs renewed the mortal fight.
And now, again, Sarpedon’s shining spear Was vainly flung; the point, in passing o’er Patroclus’s left shoulder, gave no wound. In turn, Patroclus, hurling not in vain His weapon, smote him where the midriff’s web Holds the tough heart. He fell as falls an oak Or poplar or tall pine, which workmen hew Among the mountains with their sharpened steel To frame a ship. So he before his steeds And chariot fell upon the bloody dust, And grasped it with his hands, and gnashed his teeth. As when a lion coming on a herd Seizes, amid the crowd of stamping beeves, A tawny and high-mettled bull, that dies Bellowing in fury in the lion’s jaws— Like him, indignant to be overcome, The leader of the bucklered Lycian host, Laid prostrate by Patroclus, called by name His dear companion, and addressed him thus:—