While he was speaking, death crept o’er his sight And stopped his breath. Patroclus set his heel Against his bosom, and plucked out the spear; The midriff followed it, and thus he drew The life and weapon forth at once. Meantime The Myrmidons held fast the snorting steeds, That, loosened from the Lycian’s car, were bent On flight. The grief of Glaucus as he heard His comrade’s voice was bitter, and his heart Ached at the thought that he could bring no aid. He seized his arm and pressed it in his grasp, For there the wound which Teucer’s arrow left, When Glaucus stormed the wall and Teucer’s shafts Defended it, still pained him grievously, And thus he prayed to Phoebus, archer-god:⁠—