The Iliad: Book 16

Like a girl, a baby running after her mother,
begging to be picked up, and she tugs her skirts,
holding her back as she tries to hurry off—all tears,
fawning up at her, till she takes her in her arms

But you are intractable, Achilles!
Pray god such anger never seizes me, such rage you nurse.

No spear rages now in the hand of Diomedes,
keen to save the Argives from disaster

You must not, lost in the flush and fire of triumph,
slaughtering Trojans outright, drive your troops to Troy—
what if one of the gods who never die comes down
from Olympus heights to intervene in battle?

She was up in flames at once, engulfed in quenchless fire,
in a flash the blaze went swirling round the stern

No other Achaean fighter could heft that shaft,
only Achilles had the skill to wield it well

So at his command Automedon yoked the horses,
the rapid stallions Roan Beauty and Dapple

So at his command Automedon yoked the horses,
the rapid stallions Roan Beauty and Dapple
the storm-wind filly Lightfoot foaled for the West Wind,
grazing the lush green grass along the Ocean's tides.

But soon as Achilles mustered all battalions,
positioned in battle-order led by captains,
he imposed this stern command on all his troops

Denouncing me—
my comrades, clustered together, always grumbling.

Hearing the king's command the ranks pulled closer,
tight as a mason packs a good stone wall

Fill his heart with courage—so even Hector learns
if Patroclus has the skill to fight his wars alone,
my friend-in-arms, or his hands can rage unvanquished
only when I go wading in and face the grind of battle.

And Amphiclus went for Meges
but Meges saw him coming and got in first by far,
spearing him up the thigh where it joins the body,
the spot where a man's muscle bunches thickest:
the tough sinews shredded around the weapon's point

...the Argive's spearpoint cracked through the bony socket,
shearing away the tendons, wrenched the whole arm out

As ravenous wolves come swooping down on lambs or kids
to snatch them away from right amidst their flock—all lost
when a careless shepherd leaves them straggling down the hills
and quickly spotting a chance the wolf pack picks them off,
no heart for the fight—so the Achaeans mauled the Trojans.

And all in an onrush dark as autumn days
when the whole earth flattens black beneath a gale,
when Zeus flings down his pelting, punishing rains—
up in arms, furious, storming against those men
who brawl in the courts and render crooked judgments

Now is the time to prove yourself a spearman,
a daring man of war—now, if you are brave,
make grueling battle your one consuming passion.

I beg you, Apollo, heal this throbbing wound,
lull the pain now, lend me power in battle

He stopped the pains at once, stanched the dark blood
in his throbbing wound and filled his heart with courage.

Hard grief came sweeping over the Trojans' heads—
unbearable, irrepressible.

A great joy to the Trojans,
massing packs of them swarming round the corpse
but Achaean forces never slacked their drive,
their juggernaut fury bore them breakneck on.

On with it now—
sweep Sarpedon clear of the weapons, Phoebus my friend,
and once you wipe the dark blood from his body,
bear him far from the fighting, off and away,
and bathe him well in a river's running tides
and anoint him with deathless oils

So you sprang at Cebriones, full fury, Patroclus,
as Hector sprang down from his chariot just across
and the two went tussling over the corpse as lions
up on the mountain ridges over a fresh-killed stag

Forbidden before this to defile its crest in dust,
it guarded the head and handsome brow of a god

Patroclus—
surely you must have thought you'd storm my city down,
you'd wrest from the wives of Troy their day of freedom