forth to battle, and remained within, He charged thee thus: ‘Patroclus, flower of knights, Return not to the fleet until thy hand Hath torn the bloody armor from the corpse Of the man-queller Hector.’ So he spake, And filled with idle hopes thy foolish heart.”
Then thou, Patroclus, with a faltering voice, Didst answer thus: “Now, Hector, while thou mayst, Utter thy boast in swelling words, since Jove And Phoebus gave the victory to thee. Easily have they vanquished me; ’twas they Who stripped the armor from my limbs, for else, If twenty such as thou had met me, all Had perished by my spear. A cruel fate O’ertakes me, aided by Latona’s son, The god, and by Euphorbus among men. Thou who shalt take my spoil art but the third; Yet hear my words, and keep them in thy thought. Not long shalt thou remain alive; thy death By violence is at hand, and thou must fall, Slain by the hand of great Aeacides.”
While he was speaking, death stole over him And veiled his senses, while the soul forsook His limbs and flew to Hades, sorrowing For its sad lot, to part from life in youth And prime of strength. Illustrious Hector thus Answered the dying man: “Why threaten me, Patroclus, with an early death? Who knows That he, thy friend, whom fair-haired Thetis bore, Achilles, may not sooner lose his life, Slain by my spear?” He spake, and set his heel Upon the slain, and from the wound drew forth His brazen spear and pushed the corpse aside, And with the weapon hurried on to smite Godlike Automedon, the charioteer Of swift Aeacides; but him the steeds Fleet-footed and immortal, which the gods Bestowed on Peleus, swiftly bore away.