While, weakened by that wound and by the blow Given by the god, Patroclus turned and sought Shelter from danger in the Grecian ranks; But Hector, when he saw the gallant Greek Thus wounded and retreating, left his place Among the squadrons, and, advancing, pierced Patroclus with his spear, below the belt, Driving the weapon deep. The hero fell With clashing mail, and all the Greeks beheld His fall with grief. As when a lion bears A stubborn boar to earth, what time the twain Fight on the mountains for a slender spring, Both thirsty and both fierce, the lion’s strength Lays prone his panting foe, so Priam’s son Slew, fighting hand to hand, the valiant Greek, Son of Menoetius, who himself had slain So many. Hector gloried over him With wingèd words: “Patroclus, thou didst think To lay our city waste, and carry off Our women captive in thy ships to Greece. Madman! In their defence the fiery steeds Of Hector sweep the battle-field, and I, Mightiest of all the Trojans, with the spear Will guard them from the doom of slavery.