“O thou supreme! high-throned all height above! O great Pelasgic, Dodonaean Jove! Who ’midst surrounding frosts, and vapours chill, Presid’st on bleak Dodona’s vocal hill: (Whose groves the Selli, race austere! surround, Their feet unwash’d, their slumbers on the ground; Who hear, from rustling oaks, thy dark decrees; And catch the fates, low-whispered in the breeze;) Hear, as of old! Thou gav’st, at Thetis’ prayer, Glory to me, and to the Greeks despair. Lo, to the dangers of the fighting field The best, the dearest of my friends, I yield, Though still determined, to my ships confined; Patroclus gone, I stay but half behind. Oh! be his guard thy providential care, Confirm his heart, and string his arm to war: Press’d by his single force let Hector see His fame in arms not owing all to me. But when the fleets are saved from foes and fire, Let him with conquest and renown retire; Preserve his arms, preserve his social train, And safe return him to these eyes again!”