of darts; Whose eager javelin launch'd against the foe, Great Apisaon felt the fatal blow; From his torn liver the red current flow'd, And his slack knees desert their dying load. The victor rushing to despoil the dead, From Paris' bow a vengeful arrow fled; Fix'd in his nervous thigh the weapon stood, Fix'd was the point, but broken was the wood. Back to the lines the wounded Greek retired, Yet thus retreating, his associates fired: "What god, O Grecians! has your hearts dismay'd? Oh, turn to arms; 'tis Ajax claims your aid. This hour he stands the mark of hostile rage, And this the last brave battle he shall wage: Haste, join your forces; from the gloomy grave The warrior rescue, and your country save." Thus urged the chief: a generous troop appears, Who spread their bucklers, and advance their spears, To guard their wounded friend: while thus they stand With pious care, great Ajax joins the band: Each takes new courage at the hero's sight; The hero rallies, and renews the fight. Thus raged both armies like conflicting fires, While Nestor's chariot far from fight retires: His coursers steep'd in sweat, and stain'd with gore, The Greeks' preserver, great Machaon, bore. That hour Achilles, from the topmost height Of his proud fleet, o'erlook'd the fields of fight; His feasted eyes beheld around the plain The Grecian rout, the slaying, and the slain. His friend Machaon singled from the rest, A transient pity touch'd his vengeful breast. Straight to Menoetius' much-loved son he sent: Graceful as Mars, Patroclus quits his tent; In evil hour! Then fate decreed his doom, And fix'd the date of all his woes to come. "Why calls my friend? thy loved injunctions lay; Whate'er thy will, Patroclus shall obey." "O first of friends! (Pelides thus replied) Still at my heart, and ever at my side! The time is come, when yon despairing host Shall learn the value of the man they lost: Now at my