So spake the god, and breathed into the steeds New life and vigor. From their manes they shook The dust, and flew with that swift car among The Greeks and Trojans. With the Trojan throng, Automedon, though mourning his slain friend, Maintained the fight; he rushed upon their ranks, A vulture pouncing on a flock of geese. Swiftly he passed from out the Trojan throng; Swiftly again he charged their phalanxes In fierce pursuit. Yet slew he none of those Whom he pursued; he could not guide at once The steeds and cast the spear, when seated thus Alone within that sacred car. At last A friend, the valorous Alcimedon, Laërces’ son, of Aemon’s line, beheld His plight, and, standing near his chariot, said:⁠—

“What god, Automedon, hath prompted thee To these mad acts, and stolen thy better sense, Fighting alone among the foremost ranks Of Trojan warriors, thy companion slain, And Hector in the field, who boastfully Stalks in the armor of Aeacides?”