many long in vain to pass, Detain him in that isle. But he shall taste The sharpness of my spear, that I may prove Whether he after that will reappear, And whether the kind earth, which holds so well The valiant dead, can keep him in her womb.”
So pondered he and stood. The Trojan drew Close to him, with intent to clasp his knees, Fear-struck, yet hoping to avoid the doom Of bitter death. The great Achilles raised His ponderous spear to strike. Lycaon stooped, And, darting underneath the weapon, seized The hero’s knees; behind him in the ground The spear stood fixed, though eager yet for blood; One arm was round his adversary’s knees, The other held—and would not let it go— The spear, while thus with wingèd words he prayed:—
“I clasp thy knees, Achilles; look on me Kindly and pity me, O foster-child Of Jove. I am thy suppliant, and may claim Thy mercy. I partook with thee the fruits Of Ceres, when amid my fruitful fields Thou madest me a captive, carrying me From friends and kindred to the sacred isle Of Lemnos. Thou didst sell me there—my price A hundred beeves—and thou shalt now receive, For ransom, thrice as many. It is yet But the twelfth morning since I came to Troy After much hardship, and a pitiless fate Betrays me to thy hands. I must believe That Father Jove in wrath delivers me To thee again. Laothoe brought me forth To a brief life; that mother was the child Of aged Altes—Altes ruling o’er The warlike Leleges, by whom are tilled The heights of Pedasus, where Satnio flows— And Priam wedded her with other maids. She bore two children to be slain by thee; One was the godlike Polydore, whom thou Didst smite with thy keen spear, in the front rank Of those who fought on foot. His evil fate Must overtake me now, for, since a god Has brought me near thee, there is no escape. Yet let me tell thee this, and weigh it well, And let it save my life. I came not forth From the same womb with Hector, by whose hand Thy brave and gentle friend, Patroclus, died.”