“Stay, foster-child of Jove, Antilochus! And listen to the sorrowful news I bring Of what should ne’er have been. Thou must have well Perceived, I think, that some divinity Doth heap disaster on our host, and give The victory to the Trojans. He is dead⁠— Patroclus⁠—the most valiant of the Greeks, And great their sorrow is. Now hasten thou To the Greek galleys; let Achilles know The tidings; he may haply bring the corpse, Stripped as it is, unmangled to the fleet, For crested Hector has the arms he wore.”

He spake, and at his words Antilochus Was horror-struck; in grief too great for speech, Tears filled his eyes, and his clear voice was choked. Yet heeded he the mandate. Laying off His arms, he gave them to his blameless friend, Laodocus, who with his firm-paced steeds Came toward him. Thus prepared he ran; his feet Carried him swiftly from the battle-field To bear the evil news to Peleus’ son.