Such converse held they; while by hostile spears Hard press’d, no longer Ajax might endure; At once by Jove’s high will and Trojan foes O’ermaster’d; loud beneath repeated blows Clatter’d around his brow the glitt’ring helm, As on the well-wrought crest the weapons fell; And his left arm grew faint, that long had borne The burthen of his shield; yet nought avail’d The press of spears to drive him from his post; Lab’ring he drew his breath, his ev’ry limb With sweat was reeking; breathing space was none; Blow follow’d blow; and ills were heap’d on ill. Say now, ye Nine, who on Olympus dwell, How first the fire assail’d the Grecian ships. Hector approach’d, and on the ashen spear Of Ajax, close behind the head, let fall His mighty sword; right through he clove the wood; And in his hand the son of Telamon The headless shaft held bootless; far away, Loud ringing, fell to earth the brazen point. Ajax, dismayed, perceived the hand of Heaven, And knew that Jove the Thunderer had decreed To thwart his hopes, and victory give to Troy. Slow he retir’d; and to the vessel they The blazing torch applied; high rose the flame Unquenchable, and wrapp’d the poop in fire. The son of Peleus saw, and with his palm Smote on his thigh, and to Patroclus call’d: “Up, nobly born Patroclus, car-borne chief! Up, for I see above the ships ascend The hostile fires; and lest they seize the ships, And hinder our retreat, do thou in haste Thine armour don, while I arouse the troops.” He said: his dazzling arms Patroclus donn’d: First on his legs the well-wrought greaves he fix’d, Fasten’d with silver clasps; his ample chest The breastplate of Achilles, swift of foot, Star-spangled, richly wrought, defended well; Around his shoulders slung, his sword he bore, Brass-bladed, silver-studded; next his shield Weighty and strong; and on his firm-set head A helm he wore, well-wrought, with horsehair plume That nodded, fearful, o’er his brow; his hand Grasp’d two stout spears, familiar to his hold. One spear Achilles had, long, pond’rous, tough; But this he touch’d not; none of all the Greeks, None, save Achilles’ self, that spear could poise; The far-fam’d Pelian ash, which to his sire, On Pelion’s summit fell’d, to be the bane Of mightiest chiefs, the Centaur Chiron gave. Then to Automedon he gave command To yoke the horses: him he honour’d most, Next to Achilles’ self; the trustiest he In battle to await his chief’s behest. The flying steeds he harness’d to the car, Xanthus and Balius, fleeter than the winds; Whom, grazing in the marsh by ocean’s stream, Podarge, swift of foot, to Zephyr bore: And by their side the matchless Pedasus, Whom from the capture of Eetion’s town Achilles bore away; a mortal horse, But with immortal coursers meet to vie.