His plume, and all bead-ornaments, could never hang in rest. His arm yet labour’d up his shield, and having done their best, They could not stir him from his stand, although he wrought it out With short respirings, and with sweat, that ceaseless flow’d about His reeking limbs; no least time giv’n to take in any breath; Ill strengthen’d ill; when one was up, another was beneath. Now, Muses, you that dwell in heav’n, the dreadful mean inspire, That first enforc’d the Grecian fleet, to take in Trojan fire. First Hector, with his huge broad sword, cut off, at setting on, The head of Ajax’ ashen lance; which Ajax seeing gone, And that he shook a headless spear, a little while unware, His wary spirits told him straight the hand of Heav’n was there; And trembling under his conceit, which was that ’twas Jove’s deed, Who, as be poll’d off his dart’s heads, so sure he had decreed That all the counsels of their war, he would poll off like it, And give the Trojans victory; so trusted he his wit, And left his darts. And then the ship was heap’d with horrid brands Of kindling fire; which instantly was seen through all the strands In unextinguishable flames, that all the ship embrac’d. And then Achilles beat his thighs, cried out, “Patroclus, haste, Make way with horse. I see at fleet, a fire of fearful rage. Arm, arm, lest all our fleet it fire, and all our pow’r engage. Arm quickly, I’ll bring up the troops.” To these so dreadful wars Patroclus, in Achilles’ arms, enlighten’d all with stars, And richly amell’d, all haste made. He wore his sword, his shield, His huge-plum’d helm, and two such spears, as he could nimbly wield. But the most fam’d Achilles’ spear, big, solid, full of weight, He only left of all his arms; for that far pass’d the might Of any Greek to shake but his; Achilles’ only ire Shook that huge weapon, that was giv’n by Chiron to his sire, Cut from the top of Pelion, to be heroës’ deaths. His steeds Automedon straight join’d; like whom no man that breathes, Next Peleus’ son, Patroclus lov’d; for, like him, none so great He found in faith at ev’ry fight, nor to out-look a threat, Automedon did therefore guide for him Achilles’ steeds, Xanthius and Balius swift as wind, begotten by the seeds Of Zephyr, and the Harpy born, Podarge, in a mead Close to the wavy oceán, where that fierce Harpy fed. Automedon join’d these before, and with the hindmost gears He fasten’d famous Pedasus, whom, from the massacres Made by Achilles, when he took Eëtion’s wealthy town, He brought, and, though of mortal race, yet gave him the renown To follow his immortal horse. And now, before his tents, Himself had seen his Myrmidons, in all habiliments Of dreadful war. And when ye see, upon a mountain bred,[2] A den of wolves, about whose hearts unmeasur’d strengths are fed, New come from currie of a stag, their jaws all blood-besmear’d, And when from some black-water fount they all together herd, There having plentifully lapp’d, with thin and thrust out tongues,