Jove view’d the combat with a stern survey, And eyes that flash’d intolerable day. Fix’d on the field his sight, his breast debates The vengeance due, and meditates the fates: Whether to urge their prompt effect, and call The force of Hector to Patroclus’ fall, This instant see his short-lived trophies won, And stretch him breathless on his slaughter’d son; Or yet, with many a soul’s untimely flight, Augment the fame and horror of the fight. To crown Achilles’ valiant friend with praise At length he dooms; and, that his last of days Shall set in glory, bids him drive the foe; Nor unattended see the shades below. Then Hector’s mind he fills with dire dismay; He mounts his car, and calls his hosts away; Sunk with Troy’s heavy fates, he sees decline The scales of Jove, and pants with awe divine. Then, nor before, the hardy Lycians fled, And left their monarch with the common dead: Around, in heaps on heaps, a dreadful wall Of carnage rises, as the heroes fall. (So Jove decreed!) At length the Greeks obtain The prize contested, and despoil the slain. The radiant arms are by Patroclus borne; Patroclus’ ships the glorious spoils adorn. Then thus to Phœbus, in the realms above, Spoke from his throne the cloud-compelling Jove: “Descend, my Phœbus! on the Phrygian plain, And from the fight convey Sarpedon slain; Then bathe his body in the crystal flood, With dust dishonour’d, and deform’d with blood; O’er all his limbs ambrosial odours shed, And with celestial robes adorn the dead. Those rites discharged, his sacred corse bequeath To the soft arms of silent Sleep and Death. They to his friends the immortal charge shall bear; His friends a tomb and pyramid shall rear: What honour mortals after death receive, Those unavailing honours we may give!” [Illustration: ] SLEEP AND DEATH CONVEYING THE BODY OF SARPEDON TO LYCIA Apollo bows, and from mount Ida’s height, Swift to the field precipitates his flight; Thence from the war the breathless hero bore, Veil’d in a cloud, to silver Simois’ shore; There bathed his honourable wounds, and dress’d His manly members in the immortal vest; And with perfumes of sweet ambrosial dews Restores his freshness, and his form renews. Then Sleep and Death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace, Received Sarpedon, at the god’s command, And in a moment reach’d the Lycian land; The corse amidst his weeping friends they laid, Where endless honours wait the sacred shade. Meanwhile Patroclus pours along the plains, With foaming coursers, and with loosen’d reins. Fierce on the Trojan and the Lycian crew, Ah blind to fate! thy headlong fury flew: Against what fate and powerful Jove ordain, Vain was thy friend’s command, thy courage vain. For he, the god, whose counsels uncontroll’d Dismay the mighty, and confound the bold; The god who gives, resumes, and orders all, He urged thee on, and urged thee on to fall.