The sharp stone struck on the temples
Hector's charioteer: he was bastard offspring of Priam,
Son of the famous king. For, while he was holding the bright reins,
Full on the top of his face came the huge stone, smashing the eyebrows
Crushing the solid skull; and the eyeballs, forced from the sockets,
Fell in the dust at his feet; while himself, as plunges a diver,
Plunged to the earth from the car, and the fierce soul fled from the carcass.
Loud, as he markt the act, thus scoffingly shouted Patroclos:—

“Gods! what a nimble man! How easy that shoot from the chariot!
Did he but happen to live by the ocean, where fish are abounding,
Many a mouth, thro him, might be satisfied, diving for oysters;
Even in times of storm, from his boat-side taking his headers:
Easy enough for one who on land dives thus from his war-steeds.
Who would have thought such tumblers had even been found mid the Trojans.”

Thus did Patroclos speak—then rusht on the corpse to despoil it,
Like the tremendous rush of a lion first clearing the foldyards;
Then, with a wound on his breast, by his courage brought to destruction:
Thus on Kebriones dead did Patroclos rush to despoil him,
While on the opposite side leapt Hector to earth from his war-steeds.
As on a mountain peak two lions roaring defiance
Over a slaughtered stag, all raving and savage with hunger,
Wage unrelenting war for the coveted prize of the carcass,
So with Kebriones slain did these two lords of the battle,
Hector, mighty in war and Patroclos, son of Menoitios,
Aim at each other's breasts with the points of the murderous weapons.
Hector held by the head to his brother's corpse and retained it;
While on the dead man's foot did Patroclos seize; and around them
Deepened the roar of fight of the Trojan troops and the Argives.
As with opposing blasts, when the fury of Euros and Notos
Falls upon some dense wood, in a glen deep down on a hill-side,
Beech or tough-grained ash or the long-leaved boughs of the cornel,
And as the blast drives over, the tall trees mingle their branches,
Rasping and grating together, or breaking, perchance, with a great crash
So, and with equal din, did the armies of Troy and Achaia
Seek each other's breasts, and fear was forgotten among them.
Over Kebriones' corpse was the clash and the crashing of lances,
Whizzing of arrow-shafts, that bounded in wrath from the bow-strings,
Clanging of ponderous stones that bruised and battered the bucklers
Of those fighting around him. He mighty and mightily stretcht out,
Heedless of reins and steeds, slept sound mid the storm of the battle.

All such time as the sun stands high on his path mid the Heavens
Falls on each army the storm of the darts and slain are the people.
But when the sun stands low and releases the labouring oxen,
Then, despite of fate, has Achaia the best in the struggle.
Dragging Kebriones off from the spears, in the face of the uproar
Made by Troy's foiled host, they strip from his shoulders the armour.
Then on his foes once more, in his wild wrath, hurtles Patroclos:
Three times, dreadful as Ares, with terrible shouts, he assails them,
Charging them home. Three times, nine warriors perish before him;
But when, great as a god, he a fourth time charges the phalanx.
This, of thy narrow life, is the finishing effort, Patroclos!
For, thro the midst of the fray, to assail thee, Phoibos Apollo
Moves—an unequal opponent. Patroclos never discerns him,
Since in a pile of cloud is the deity veiled and enshrouded.
Standing in rear of the chief, on his back, mid his shoulders, the great god
Strikes with ponderous hand. Swim dizzy the eyes of the hero,
Flies from his temples the helm, at the buffet of Phoibos Apollo;
Far, with a clash, to the earth, far away, mid the hoofs of the war-steeds
Rolls that crested helm; those bright plumes waving above it
Draggle in blood and dust. They have never been wont to be soiled so,
Never before have dust and that proud helm been acquainted,
Used, as it is, to protect in the fight the high face of a hero,
Even Achilleus' self. Now Zeus upon Hector bestows it,
Gives it to him for a while, as he stands on the brink of destruction:
All in Patroclos' hand does the huge spear shiver to splinters,
Stalwart, brass-headed beam that it is; and far from his shoulders,
Shield of ample orb to the earth comes down with the shield-belt;
And from his gallant breast is the corselet loosed by Apollo.
Mind and senses bewildered, his limbs unnerved by the buffet,
Stupid aghast he remained. As he stood he was struck by a Dardan
Right mid his shoulder-blades, with a spear from behind by Euphorbos,
Panthoos' gallant son, who headed the youths of his own age,
Both in the use of the spear and in driving of steeds and the foot-race;
Twenty the chiefs at least had he tumbled to earth from their war-steeds,
When with his car and horses he first took lessons in battle.
This man thus with his spear first wounded the back of Patroclos—
Nor with a fatal wound; and at once from the flesh of the hero
Tearing the spear, he retreated again to his friends, nor adventured
There to abide such a foe, the unarmed, in the perilous death-gripe,
He, by the blow of the god and the spear-stroke stunned and enfeebled,
Shunned approaching fate and retreated again to his comrades.
Hector remarkt from afar how Patroclos, sorely disabled,
Wounded by hostile steel, and his great soul cowed, was retreating
Back to the Argive host; so, cleaving the ranks, overtook him,
Plunging the levelled spear thro his groin, right out on the far side.
Thundering he fell to the earth. Loud, deep, was the wail of Achaia.
Just as a stubborn boar is o'ermastered in fight by a lion,
When on a mountain-peak they have wrangled in terrible combat.
Round some half-dried spring, which both have been eager to drink of,
Until the lion's might has mastered his snorting opponent:
Thus, having overthrown many foes, the brave son of Menoitios
Yielded at length his own strong soul to the weapon of Hector,
Who to his fallen foe thus vauntingly spake and addrest him:—

“Where is the boastful hope thou 'st ventured to utter, Patroclos,
Speaking of Troy's wall stormed and her proud dames carried as captives
Off in Achaia's barks, far away to the land of the fathers?
Fool! those dames and that wall had protectors ready to guard them;
Hector and his swift steeds—steeds eager for war—and their master,
First among Troy's fierce sons in the use of the spear; a defender
Fitter to ward off fate. But thou shalt be prey to the vultures.
Wretch! all brave as he is, not a jot has availed thee Achilleus,
He but urged thee to death, for he charged thee, methinks, when departing,
Thus: ‘To the hollow ships do not come again, knightly Patroclos!
Seek not again this face ere thou tear from the bosom of Hector
Corselet and blood-stained vest and bear them as trophies before thee.’
Such were, perchance, his words; and thou, poor fool! wert the victim.”

Then with his failing breath, thus answered knightly Patroclos:—
“It is thy season to boast, and thou boastest enough. But thy conquest
Comes from Zeus himself and from Phoibos—they have subdued me
Easily as gods could; themselves disarming my shoulders.
If twice ten such as thou had encountered me fairly in battle,
All had sunk in the fight and had bowed to the brunt of my lance-point.
Fate overthrew me the first: it is Leto's son who has slain me;
Then came of men Euphorbos and thou standest third in the death work.
But, take heed to my words and ponder them well as I speak them:
Know that thyself, proud man, art doomed not long to survive me.
Death and relentless fate are standing already beside thee,
Doomed, ere long, to be slain by the hands of the noble Achilleus!”

Thus as he spake, came death with its dark shade gloomily o'er him,
Flitted the naked soul from the beautiful body to Hades,
Wailing its fate and the vigour and youth it abandoned.