Part 48 (1/2)

Ah! yet be reat forefathers' virtues and your own

What aids expect you in this ut between you and fate?

No aids, no bulwarks your retreat attend, No friends to help, no city to defend

This spot is all you have, to lose or keep; There stand the Trojans, and here rolls the deep

'Tis hostile ground you tread; your native lands Far, far fro he spoke; nor further wastes his breath, But turns his javelin to the work of death

Whate'er bold Trojan arainst the sable shi+ps, with fla brands, So well the chief his naval weapon sped, The luckless warrior at his stern lay dead: Full twelve, the boldest, in a reat Ajax to the shades of hell

[Illustration: CASTOR AND POLLUX]

CASTOR AND POLLUX

BOOK XVI

ARGUMENT

THE SIXTH BATTLE, THE ACTS AND DEATH OF PATROCLUS

Patroclus (in pursuance of the request of Nestor in the eleventh book) entreats Achilles to suffer hio to the assistance of the Greeks with Achilles' troops and ares hi the fleet, without further pursuit of the enemy The armour, horses, soldiers, and officers are described

Achilles offers a libation for the success of his friend, after which Patroclus leads the Myrht of Patroclus in Achilles' ar him for that hero, are cast into the uttermost consternation; he beats them off froh Jupiter was averse to his fate

Several other particulars of the battle are described; in the heat of which, Patroclus, neglecting the orders of Achilles, pursues the foe to the walls of Troy, where Apollo repulses and disarms him, Euphorbus wounds him, and Hector kills him, which concludes the book

So warr'd both aruined shore, While the black vessels sore

Meanti tears fall copious fro to the plains below, From the tall rock the sable waters flow

Divine Pelides, with coent, to his best beloved:(243)

”Patroclus, say, what grief thy bosoirl, no infant whom the mother keeps From her loved breast, with fonder passion weeps; Notto her knees, and reaching at her ar sorrows thus pursue thy friend?

”Griev'st thou for s from our native land?

Our fathers live (our first, ood Menoetius breathes the vital air, And hoary Peleus yet extends his days; Pleased in their age to hear their children's praise

Or may some meaner cause thy pity claim?

Perhaps yon relics of the Grecian name, Doom'd in their shi+ps to sink by fire and sword, And pay the forfeit of their haughty lord?

Whate'er the cause, reveal thy secret care, And speak those sorrohich a friend would share”

A sigh that instant from his bosom broke, Another follow'd, and Patroclus spoke:

”Let Greece at length with pity touch thy breast, Thyself a Greek; and, once, of Greeks the best!

Lo! every chief thatin his tent: Eurypylus, Tydides, Atreus' son, And wise Ulysses, at the navy groan, More for their country's wounds than for their own

Their pain soft arts of pharmacy can ease, Thy breast alone no lenitives appease

May never rage like thine reat in vain! unprofitably brave!