“Ah me! Why should the Grecians thus be driven In utter disarray across the plain? I tremble lest the gods should bring to pass What most I dread. My mother told me once That the most valiant of the Myrmidons, While yet I live, cut off by Trojan hands, Shall see the sun no more. It must be so: The brave son of Menoetius has been slain. Unhappy! ’Twas my bidding that, when once The enemy with his firebrands was repulsed, He should not think to combat gallantly With Hector, but should hasten to the fleet.”

As thus he mused, illustrious Nestor’s son Drew near Achilles, and with eyes that shed Warm tears he gave his sorrowful message thus:⁠—

“Son of the warlike Peleus, woe is me! For bitter are the tidings thou must hear Of what should not have been. Patroclus lies A naked corpse, and over it the hosts Are fighting; crested Hector hath his arms.”