The brazen waves did clash together
On Skamandros' dusty plain,
Heroes fell and limbs were sever'd,
Man and horse alike were slain.
And Zeus' son, in furious might,
Detached a tow'ring parapet,
And set the Argive souls to flight,
By leaping straight down after it.
“The wall's been breached!”, Achaeans cried
Retreat was called, while more men died.

But Sarpedon persisted still,
He hurled his murd'rous ashen spear,
Danaans melted at his will -
His war-cry gripped them all with fear.
And, to his word, the charge he led,
For kings must justify their place,
And prove that they are better-fed,
That they might set the battle's pace,
As a cheetah tears through woods,
To bring swift death upon its prey,
With claws of bronze did Sarpedon
A falt'ring Greek advance allay.
And many more would he have fell'd
Had wicked Fate not tolled his knell.

Father Zeus was perched on high,
And groan'd and shook his beard of hoar;
He saw his son was doomed to die,
And thought he could defy Fate's law,
By stealing him from battle's grasp,
To take him back to Lycia's fields,
But at this, Hera gave a gasp,
And said that even he must yield,
Lest all the other gods rebel,
And save from death their favoured ones,
The whims of fate alone foretell,
The deaths, of even Zeus's sons.
Then bloody drops rained from the sky,
For they were sent at Zeus' hest,
Before his child had even died,
He made his mourning manifest.
And Patroclus, advancing near,
Had clad himself to join the fight,
(And although mighty he appear'd,
He could not match Achilles' might,)
But even so, his manly force
Was fit to lay low Sarpedon,
And swift as strong Apollo's horse,
Toward the battle he drove on.
Thus soaring, like a meteor,
Which happy portents seldom shows,
He brought the curse of raging war,
Metal-clad, unto his foe.
Yet, even as his glory shined
His own death was not far behind.

Then Sarpedon had raised his sword,
And closed to strike his enemy,
When Fate outstretch'd his golden cord,
And serv'd to him his destiny,
For Sarpedon's strike went awry,
Achilles' armour proved its worth,
Then Patroclus let his spear fly,
And pinned the Lycian to the earth,
And there he fell; and there he died,
His father dropped a shroud of night,
To hide from his all-seeing eyes,
His own son's corpse – a grievous sight.
But men in darkness, struggled on,
To seize the fallen hero's arms,
Defiled they brave Sarpedon,
And drove themselves to further harm -
Dragged through the muck, a bloody ruck,
To loot a dead man's corpse.

But final mercy Zeus did show,
And sent the spirits, Death and Sleep,
To take his son from battle's throes,
To Lycia, where men would weep,
And so the wingéd spirits came,
And stole into the battle-fire,
And Zeus' son did they reclaim
And took him to his funeral-pyre.
Thus one brave hero gained his rest,
Beyond the realms of mortal strife,
But many more of them were left,
All of whom would lose their life.
And even as he met the dust,
Hector charged at Patroclus.