A rock's large fragment thunder'd on his head;

Hurl'd by Hectorean force it cleft in twain

His shatter'd helm, and stretch'd him o'er the slain.

Fierce to the van of fight Patroclus came,

And, like an eagle darting at his game,

Sprung on the Trojan and the Lycian band.

What grief thy heart, what fury urged thy hand,

O generous Greek! when with full vigour thrown,

At Sthenelaus flew the weighty stone,

Which sunk him to the dead: when Troy, too near

That arm, drew back; and Hector learn'd to fear.

Far as an able hand a lance can throw,

Or at the lists, or at the fighting foe;

So far the Trojans from their lines retired;

Till Glaucus, turning, all the rest inspired.

Then Bathyclaeus fell beneath his rage,

The only hope of Chalcon's trembling age;

Wide o'er the land was stretch'd his large domain,

With stately seats, and riches blest in vain:

Him, bold with youth, and eager to pursue

The flying Lycians, Glaucus met and slew;

Pierced through the bosom with a sudden wound,

He fell, and falling made the fields resound.

The Achaians sorrow for their heroes slain;

With conquering shouts the Trojans shake the plain,

610

The Iliad of Homer