Whom, answer’d thus the stag-ey’d Queen of Heav’n: “What words, dread son of Saturn, dost thou speak? Wouldst thou a mortal man from death withdraw Long since by fate decreed? Do what thou wilt; Yet cannot we, the rest, applaud thine act. This too I say, and turn it in thy mind: If to his home Sarpedon thou restore Alive, bethink thee, will not other Gods Their sons too from the stubborn fight withdraw? For in the field around the walls of Troy Are many sons of Gods, in all of whom This act of thine will angry feelings rouse. But if thou love him, and thy soul deplore His coming doom, yet in the stubborn fight Leave him beneath Patroclus’ hand to fall: Then, when his spirit hath fled, the charge assign To Death and gentle Sleep, that in their arms They bear him safe to Lycia’s wide-spread plains: There shall his brethren and his friends perform His fun’ral rites, and mound and column raise, The fitting tribute to the mighty dead.” Thus she; the Sire of Gods and men complied: But to the ground some drops of blood let fall, In honour of his son, whom fate decreed, Far from his country, on the fertile plains Of Troy to perish by Patroclus’ hand. As near the champions drew, Patroclus first His weapon hurl’d, and Thrasymedes brave, The faithful follower of Sarpedon, struck Below the waist, and slack’d his limbs in death. Thrown in his turn, Sarpedon’s glitt’ring spear Flew wide; and Pedasus, the gallant horse, Through the right shoulder wounded; with a scream He fell, and in the dust breath’d forth his life, As, shrieking loud, his noble spirit fled. This way and that his two companions swerv’d; Creak’d the strong yoke, and tangled were the reins, As in the dust the prostrate courser lay. Automedon the means of safety saw; And drawing from beside his brawny thigh His keen-edg’d sword, with no uncertain blow Cut loose the fallen horse; again set straight, The two, extended, stretch’d the tightened rein. Again in mortal strife the warriors clos’d: Once more Sarpedon hurl’d his glitt’ring spear In vain; above Patroclus’ shoulder flew The point, innocuous; from his hand in turn The spear not vainly thrown, Sarpedon struck Where lies the diaphragm, below the heart. He fell; as falls an oak, or poplar tall, Or lofty pine, which on the mountain top For some proud ship the woodman’s axe hath hewn: So he, with death-cry sharp, before his car Extended lay, and clutch’d the blood-stain’d soil. As when a lion on the herd has sprung, And, ’mid the heifers seiz’d, the lordly bull Lies bellowing, crush’d between the lion’s jaws; So by Patroclus slain, the Lycian chief, Undaunted still, his faithful comrade call’d: “Good Glaucus, warrior tried, behoves thee now Thy spearmanship to prove, and warlike might. Welcome the fray; put forth thine utmost speed; Call on the Lycian chiefs, on ev’ry side, To press around, and for Sarpedon fight; Thou too thine arms for my protection wield; For I to thee, through all thy future days,