In narrow space close pressed beside the sea, And all the city of Ilium flings itself Against them, confident of victory, Now that the glitter of my helm no more Flashes upon their eyes. Yet very soon Their flying host would fill the trenches here With corpses, had but Agamemnon dealt Gently with me; and now their squadrons close Around our army. Now no more the spear Is wielded by Tydides Diomed In rescue of the Greeks; no more the shout Of Agamemnon’s hated throat is heard; But the man-queller Hector, lifting up His voice, exhorts the Trojans, who, in throngs, Raising the war-cry, fill the plain, and drive The Greeks before them. Gallantly lead on The charge, Patroclus; rescue our good ships; Let not the enemy give them to the flames, And cut us off from our desired return. Follow my counsel; bear my words in mind; So shalt thou win for me among the Greeks Great honor and renown, and they shall bring The beautiful maiden back with princely gifts. When thou hast driven the assailants from the fleet,