Ἰλιάδος Π

So they fought around the well-benched ship;

but Patroclus stood beside Achilles, shepherd of the people,

pouring hot tears like a dark-flowing spring

that pours its dusky water down a sheer rock face.

Seeing him, swift-footed godlike Achilles pitied him,

and speaking to him, he addressed him with winged words:

"Why are you weeping, Patroclus, like a little girl

who runs beside her mother and bids her lift her,

clutching her dress, and holds her back as she hurries,

and tearfully looks up at her until she lifts her?

Like her, Patroclus, you let fall a tender tear.

Is there something you would tell the Myrmidons, or me myself?

Or have you alone heard some message from Phthia?

They say Menoetius, son of Actor, is still alive,

and Peleus, son of Aeacus, lives among the Myrmidons;

we would grieve deeply if both of them were dead.

Or do you mourn the Argives, because they are dying

at the hollow ships through their own transgression?

Speak out, do not hide it in your mind, so that we both may know."

Then, groaning heavily, you answered, Patroclus the horseman:

"Achilles, son of Peleus, far greatest of the Achaeans,

do not be angry; for such grief has overwhelmed the Achaeans.

For all those who before were best

lie in the ships, struck and wounded.

Mighty Diomedes, son of Tydeus, has been struck,

and Odysseus, famed with the spear, and Agamemnon have been wounded;

Eurypylus too has been struck in the thigh by an arrow;

healers skilled in many remedies attend to them,

healing their wounds; but you have become helpless, Achilles.

May this anger you nurse never take hold of me,

dreadful in valor. What good will you be to any man born later,

if you do not ward shameful ruin from the Argives?

Pitiless man, Peleus the horseman was not your father,

nor Thetis your mother; the gray sea bore you,

and the towering rocks, since your mind is harsh.

But if in your heart you are avoiding some prophecy,

and your queenly mother has told you something from Zeus,

then at least send me swiftly, and give me another host to lead—

the Myrmidons—in hope I may become some light for the Danaans.

Give me your armor to wear upon my shoulders,

so that the Trojans, mistaking me for you, may hold back from battle,

and the warlike sons of the Achaeans may breathe again

in their exhaustion; brief indeed is any breathing-space in war.

Then easily, fresh as you are, with the battle-cry you could drive tired men

toward the city, away from the ships and shelters."

So he spoke in supplication, great fool; for he was destined

to beg evil death and doom upon himself.

Greatly troubled, swift-footed Achilles answered him:

"Ah, Patroclus, sprung from Zeus, what a thing you have said!

I heed no prophecy that I know,

nor has my queenly mother told me anything from Zeus.

But this dread grief reaches my heart and spirit:

whenever a man is willing to rob his equal

and strip him of his prize, because he surpasses him in power.

That is dread grief to me, since I have suffered pain in my heart.

The girl whom the sons of the Achaeans chose out as my prize,

whom I won with my own spear when I sacked a well-walled city,

the lord Agamemnon took away from my hands,

as though I were some dishonored wanderer from abroad.

But we shall let those things be past; somehow it was not possible

to stay relentlessly angry in my heart. Yet I said

I would not end my wrath before

the battle-cry and war reached my own ships.

So put my famous armor upon your shoulders,

and lead the battle-loving Myrmidons to war,

if indeed the dark cloud of Trojans has closed around

the ships in force, while the Argives lean against the sea's breaking surf,

holding only a small share of ground,

and the whole city of the Trojans has come on

boldly. For they do not see the brow of my helmet

blazing near them; soon in flight they would fill the gullies

with their dead, if the lord Agamemnon knew how to treat me kindly;

but now they are fighting all around the camp.

For in the hands of Diomedes, son of Tydeus, the spear

does not rage to ward ruin from the Danaans;

nor have I yet heard the voice of Atreus' son shouting

from his hated head; but the voice of man-slaying Hector

breaks all around as he commands the Trojans, and with their war-cry

they hold the whole plain, defeating the Achaeans in battle.

Even so, Patroclus, fall on fiercely and ward ruin from the ships,

lest with blazing fire they burn

the ships and rob us of our dear homecoming.

But obey as I set the sum of my command in your heart,

that you may win great honor and glory for me

from all the Danaans, and they may send the lovely girl

back to me, and give splendid gifts besides.

Once you have driven them from the ships, come back. And if

loud-thundering Zeus, husband of Hera, grants you glory,

do not long to fight on without me

against the battle-loving Trojans; you will make me less honored.

And do not, exulting in war and combat,

lead on toward Ilion as you slaughter Trojans,

lest one of the ever-living gods come down from Olympus

and enter the fight; the far-worker Apollo loves them greatly.

Turn back instead, once you have made light among the ships,

and leave the others still to struggle across the plain.

Would that, father Zeus, and Athena, and Apollo,

not one of all the Trojans might escape death,

nor one of the Argives, but that we two might emerge from destruction,

so that we alone might loosen Troy's sacred veil."

So they spoke such words to one another,

but Ajax could hold no longer, for he was overpowered by missiles;

the will of Zeus and the proud Trojans wore him down

with their blows; about his temples the bright helmet rang

dreadfully as it was struck, and blow after blow fell

upon its well-made cheek-pieces; his left shoulder tired

from holding his flashing shield forever firm, yet they could not