of more than mortal hands! A Dardan youth there was, well known to fame, From Panthus sprung, Euphorbus was his name; Famed for the manage of the foaming horse, Skill'd in the dart, and matchless in the course: Full twenty knights he tumbled from the car, While yet he learn'd his rudiments of war. His venturous spear first drew the hero's gore; He struck, he wounded, but he durst no more. Nor, though disarm'd, Patroclus' fury stood: But swift withdrew the long-protended wood. And turn'd him short, and herded in the crowd. Thus, by an arm divine, and mortal spear, Wounded, at once, Patroclus yields to fear, Retires for succour to his social train, And flies the fate, which heaven decreed, in vain. Stern Hector, as the bleeding chief he views, Breaks through the ranks, and his retreat pursues: The lance arrests him with a mortal wound; He falls, earth thunders, and his arms resound. With him all Greece was sunk; that moment all Her yet-surviving heroes seem'd to fall. So, scorch'd with heat, along the desert score, The roaming lion meets a bristly boar, Fast by the spring; they both dispute the flood, With flaming eyes, and jaws besmear'd with blood; At length the sovereign savage wins the strife; And the torn boar resigns his thirst and life. Patroclus thus, so many chiefs o'erthrown, So many lives effused, expires his own. As dying now at Hector's feet he lies, He sternly views him, and triumphant cries: "Lie there, Patroclus! and with thee, the joy Thy pride once promised, of subverting Troy; The fancied scenes of Ilion wrapt in flames, And thy soft pleasures served with captive dames. Unthinking man! I fought those towers to free, And guard that beauteous race from lords like thee: But thou a prey to vultures shalt be made; Thy own Achilles cannot lend thee aid; Though much at parting that great chief might say, And much enjoin thee, this important day. 'Return not, my brave fr