As yet no tidings of Patroclus’ fall Had reach’d two valiant chiefs, Antilochus And Thrasymedes; but they deem’d him still Alive, and fighting in the foremost ranks. They, witnessing their comrades’ flight and death, Fought on apart, by Nestor so enjoin’d, When from the ships he bade them join the fray. Great was meanwhile their labour, who sustain’d, Throughout the livelong day, that weary fight; Reek’d with continuous toil and sweat, the knees, And legs and feet, the arms, and eyes, of all Who round Achilles’ faithful comrade fought. As when a chief his people bids to stretch A huge bull’s hide, all drench’d and soak’d with grease; They in a circle rang’d, this way and that, Pull the tough hide, till ent’ring in, the grease Is all absorb’d; and dragg’d by num’rous hands The supple skin to th’ utmost length is stretch’d; So these in narrow space this way and that The body dragg’d; and high the hopes of each To bear it off in triumph; to their ships The Greeks, to Troy the Trojans; fiercely rag’d The struggle; spirit-stirring Mars himself, Or Pallas to her utmost fury rous’d, Had not that struggle with contempt beheld: Such grievous labour o’er Patroclus’ corpse Had Jove to horses and to men decreed. But of Patroclus’ fall no tidings yet Had reach’d Achilles; for the war was wag’d Far from the ships, beneath the walls of Troy; Nor look’d he of his death to hear, but deem’d That when the Trojans to their gates were driv’n, He would return in safety; for no hope Had he of taking by assault the town, With, or without, his aid; for oft apart His Goddess-mother had his doom, foretold, Revealing to her son the mind of Jove; Yet ne’er had warn’d him of such grief as this, Which now befell, his dearest comrade’s loss. Still round the dead they held their pointed spears, Fought hand to hand, and mutual slaughter dealt; And thus perchance some brass-clad Greek would say: “O friends, ’twere shameful should we to the ships Ingloriously return; ere that should be, Let earth engulph us all; so better far Than let these Trojans to their city bear Our dead, and boast them of their triumph gain’d.” On th’ other hand some valiant Trojan thus Would shout: “O friends, tho’ fate decreed that here We all should die, yet let not one give way.”