Thus, cheering each his comrades, would they speak, And thus they fought; the iron clangour pierc’d The empty air, and brazen vault of Heav’n. But, from the fight withdrawn, Achilles’ steeds Wept, as they heard how in the dust was laid Their charioteer, by Hector’s murd’rous hand. Automedon, Diores’ valiant son, Essay’d in vain to rouse them with the lash, In vain with honey’d words, in vain with threats; Nor to the ships would they return again By the broad Hellespont, nor join the fray; But as a column stands, which marks the tomb Of man or woman, so immovable Beneath the splendid car they stood, their heads Down-drooping to the ground, while scalding tears Dropp’d earthward from their eyelids, as they mourn’d Their charioteer; and o’er the yoke-band shed Down stream’d their ample manes, with dust defil’d. The son of Saturn pitying saw their grief, And sorrowing shook his head, as thus he mus’d: “Ah, hapless horses! wherefore gave we you To royal Peleus, to a mortal man, You that from age and death are both exempt! Was it that you the miseries might share Of wretched mortals? for of all that breathe, And walk upon the earth, or creep, is nought More wretched than th’ unhappy race of man. Yet shall not ye, nor shall your well-wrought car, By Hector, son of Priam, be controll’d; I will not suffer it; enough for him To hold, with vaunting boast, Achilles’ arms; But to your limbs and spirits will I impart Such strength, that from the battle to the ships Ye shall in safety bear Automedon; For yet I will the Trojans shall prevail, And slay, until they reach the well-mann’d ships, Till sets the sun, and darkness shrouds the earth.” He said, and in their breasts fresh spirit infus’d; They, shaking from their manes the dust, the car Amid the Greeks and Trojans lightly bore. Then, as a vulture ’mid a flock of geese, Amid the battle rush’d Automedon, His horses’ course directing, and their speed Exciting, though he mourn’d his comrade slain. Swiftly he fled from out the Trojan host; Swiftly again assail’d them in pursuit; Yet, speedy to pursue, he could not slay; Nor, in the car alone, had pow’r at once To guide the flying steeds, and hurl the spear. At length a comrade brave, Alcimedon, Laerces’ son, beheld; behind the car He stood, and thus Automedon address’d: “Automedon, what God has fill’d thy mind With counsels vain, and thee of sense bereft? That with the Trojans, in the foremost ranks, Thou fain wouldst fight alone, thy comrade slain, While Hector proudly on his breast displays The glorious arms of great Æacides.” To whom Automedon, Diores’ son: “Alcimedon, since none of all the Greeks May vie with thee, the mettle to control Of these immortal horses, save indeed, While yet he liv’d, Patroclus, godlike chief; But him stern death and fate have overta’en; Take thou the whip and shining reins, while I, Descending from the car, engage in fight.”