On the cold earth divine Patroclus spread, Lies pierced with wounds among the vulgar dead. Great Menelaus, touch’d with generous woe, Springs to the front, and guards him from the foe. Thus round her new-fallen young the heifer moves, Fruit of her throes, and first-born of her loves; And anxious (helpless as he lies, and bare) Turns, and re-turns her, with a mother’s care, Opposed to each that near the carcase came, His broad shield glimmers, and his lances flame.