There hath he burial due, while all folk weep
Around the kindly Prince that loved them well.

XVI.

Not unavenged he fell, nor all alone
To Hades did his soul indignant fly,
For soon was keen Patroclus overthrown
By Hector, and the God of archery;
And Hector stripp'd his shining panoply,
Bright arms Achilles lent: ah! naked then,
Forgetful wholly of his chivalry,
Patroclus lay, nor heard the strife of men.

XVII.

Then Hector from the war a little space
Withdrew, and clad him in Achilles' gear,
And braced the gleaming helmet on his face,
And donn'd the corslet, and that mighty spear
He grasped--the lance that makes the boldest fear;
And home his comrades bare his arms of gold,
Those Priam once had worn, his father dear,
But in his father's arms he waxed not old!

XVIII.

Then round Patroclus' body, like a tide
That storms the swollen outlet of a stream
When the winds blow, and the rains fall, and wide