The clear shout uttered by Aeacides. The hearts of all who heard that brazen voice Were troubled, and their steeds with flowing manes Turned backward with the chariots⁠—such the dread Of coming slaughter. When the charioteers Beheld the terrible flame that played unquenched Upon the brow of the magnanimous son Of Peleus, lighted by the blue-eyed maid Minerva, they were struck with panic fear. Thrice o’er the trench Achilles shouted; thrice The men of Troy and their renowned allies Fell into wild disorder. Then there died, Entangled midst their chariots, and transfixed By their own spears, twelve of their bravest chiefs. The Greeks bore off Patroclus from the field With eager haste, and placed him on a bier, And there the friends that loved him gathered round Lamenting. With them swift Achilles came, The hot tears on his cheeks, as he beheld His faithful comrade lying on his bier, Mangled with many wounds, whom he had sent With steeds and car to battle, never more To welcome him alive on his return.