He said; and on his horses’ shoulder point Let fall the lash, and loudly through the ranks Call’d on the Trojans; they, with answ’ring shout And noise unspeakable, urg’d on with him Their harness’d steeds; Apollo, in the van, Trod down with ease th’ embankment of the ditch, And fill’d it in; and o’er it bridg’d a way Level and wide, far as a jav’lin’s flight Hurl’d by an arm that proves its utmost strength. O’er this their columns pass’d; Apollo bore His Ægis o’er them, and cast down the wall; Easy, as when a child upon the beach, In wanton play, with hands and feet o’erthrows The mound of sand, which late in play he rais’d; So, Phoebus, thou, the Grecian toil and pains Confounding, sentest panic through their souls. Thus hemm’d beside the ships they made their stand, While each exhorted each, and all, with hands Outstretch’d, to ev’ry God address’d their pray’r: And chief, Gerenian Nestor, prop of Greece, With hands uplifted tow’rd the starry Heav’n: “O Father Jove! if any e’er to Thee On corn-clad plains of Argos burnt the fat Of bulls and sheep, and offer’d up his pray’r For safe return; and thine assenting nod Confirm’d thy promise; O remember now His pray’r; stave off the pitiless day of doom, Nor let the Greeks to Trojan arms succumb.” Thus Nestor pray’d; loud thunder’d from on high The Lord of counsel, as he heard the pray’r Of Neleus’ aged son; with double zeal, The Trojans, as the mind of Jove they knew, Press’d on the Greeks, with warlike ardour fir’d. As o’er the bulwarks of a ship pour down The mighty billows of the wide-path’d sea, Driv’n by the blast, that tosses high the waves, So down the wall, with shouts, the Trojans pour’d; The cars admitted, by the ships they fought With double-pointed spears, and hand to hand; These on their chariots, on the lofty decks Of their dark vessels those, with pond’rous spars Which on the ships were stor’d for naval war, Compact and strong, their heads encas’d in brass. While yet beyond the ships, about the wall The Greeks and Trojans fought, Patroclus still Within the tent of brave Eurypylus Remaining, with his converse sooth’d the chief, And healing unguents to his wound applied, Of pow’r to charm away the bitter pains; But when the Trojans pouring o’er the wall, And routed Greeks in panic flight he saw, Deeply he groan’d, and smiting on his thigh With either palm, in anguish thus he spoke: “Eurypylus, how great soe’er thy need, I can no longer stay; so fierce the storm Of battle rages; but th’ attendants’ care Will all thy wants supply; while I in haste Achilles seek, and urge him to the war; Who knows but Heav’n may grant me to succeed? For great is oft a friend’s persuasive pow’r.” He said, and quickly on his errand sped.