Then rushing sudden on his prostrate prize, To spoil the carcase fierce Patroclus flies: Swift as a lion, terrible and bold, That sweeps the field, depopulates the fold; Pierced through the dauntless heart, then tumbles slain, And from his fatal courage finds his bane. At once bold Hector leaping from his car, Defends the body, and provokes the war. Thus for some slaughter’d hind, with equal rage, Two lordly rulers of the wood engage; Stung with fierce hunger, each the prey invades, And echoing roars rebellow through the shades. Stern Hector fastens on the warrior’s head, And by the foot Patroclus drags the dead: While all around, confusion, rage, and fright, Mix the contending hosts in mortal fight. So pent by hills, the wild winds roar aloud In the deep bosom of some gloomy wood; Leaves, arms, and trees, aloft in air are blown, The broad oaks crackle, and the Sylvans groan; This way and that, the rattling thicket bends, And the whole forest in one crash descends. Not with less noise, with less tumultuous rage, In dreadful shock the mingled hosts engage. Darts shower’d on darts, now round the carcase ring; Now flights of arrows bounding from the string: Stones follow stones; some clatter on the fields, Some hard, and heavy, shake the sounding shields. But where the rising whirlwind clouds the plains, Sunk in soft dust the mighty chief remains, And, stretch’d in death, forgets the guiding reins!