BOOK XVIII
THE ARGUMENT
THE GRIEF OF ACHILLES, AND NEW ARMOUR MADE HIM BY VULCAN
Thus like the rage of fire the combat burns,
And now it rises, now it sinks, by turns.
Meanwhile, where Hellespont's broad waters flow,
Stood Nestor's son, the messenger of woe.
There sat Achilles, shaded by his sails,
On hoisted yards extended to the gales;
Pensive he sat; for all that fate designed
Rose in sad prospect to his boding mind.
Thus to his soul he said: "Ah what constrains
The Greeks, late victors, now to quit the plains?
Is this the day, which heaven so long ago
Ordained, to sink me with the weight of woe;
So Thetis warned, when, by a Trojan hand,
The bravest of the Myrmidonian band
Should lose the light? Fulfilled is that decree?
Fallen is the warrior, and Patroclus he?
In vain I charged him soon to quit the plain,
And warned to shun Hectorean force in vain!"
Thus while he thinks, Antilochus appears,
And tells the melancholy tale with tears:
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