While the long night extends her sable reign, Around Patroclus mourn’d the Grecian train. Stern in superior grief Pelides stood; Those slaughtering arms, so used to bathe in blood, Now clasp his clay-cold limbs: then gushing start The tears, and sighs burst from his swelling heart. The lion thus, with dreadful anguish stung, Roars through the desert, and demands his young; When the grim savage, to his rifled den Too late returning, snuffs the track of men, And o’er the vales and o’er the forest bounds; His clamorous grief the bellowing wood resounds. So grieves Achilles; and, impetuous, vents To all his Myrmidons his loud laments.