To Phoebus then the Cloud-compeller thus: “Hie thee, good Phoebus, from amid the spears Withdraw Sarpedon, and from all his wounds Cleanse the dark gore; then bear him far away, And lave his body in the flowing stream; Then with divine ambrosia all his limbs Anointing, clothe him in immortal robes. To two swift bearers give him then in charge, To Sleep and Death, twin brothers, in their arms To 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.” He said; obedient to his father’s words, Down to the battle-field Apollo sped From Ida’s height; and from amid the spears Withdrawn, he bore Sarpedon far away, And lav’d his body in the flowing stream; Then with divine ambrosia all his limbs Anointing, cloth’d him in immortal robes; To two swift bearers gave him then in charge, To Sleep and Death, twin brothers; in their arms They bore him safe to Lycia’s wide-spread plains. Then to Automedon Patroclus gave His orders, and the flying foe pursued. Oh much deceiv’d, insensate! had he now But borne in mind the words of Peleus’ son, He might have ’scap’d the bitter doom of death. But still Jove’s will the will of man o’errules: Who strikes with panic, and of vict’ry robs The bravest; and anon excites to war; Who now Patroclus’ breast with fury fill’d. Whom then, Patroclus, first, whom slew’st thou last, When summon’d by the Gods to meet thy doom? Adrastus, and Autonous, Perimus The son of Meges, and Echeclus next; Epistor, Melanippus, Elasus, And Mulius, and Pylartes; these he slew; The others all in flight their safety found. Then had the Greeks the lofty-gated town Of Priam captur’d by Patroclus’ hand, So forward and so fierce he bore his spear; But on the well-built tow’r Apollo stood, On his destruction bent, and Troy’s defence The jutting angle of the lofty wall Patroclus thrice assail’d; his onset thrice Apollo, with his own immortal hands Repelling, backward thrust his glitt’ring shield. But when again, with more than mortal force He made his fourth attempt, with awful mien And threat’ning voice the Far-destroyer spoke: “Back, Heav’n-born chief, Patroclus! not to thee Hath fate decreed the triumph to destroy The warlike Trojans’ city; no, nor yet To great Achilles, mightier far than thou.”