Classic Poem

The son of Enops, Thestor next he smote.
He in his chariot with his body bent
Sat cow'ring low, a fear-distracted form,
And from his palsied grasp the reins had fall'n.
Then came Patroclus nigh, and through his cheek
His teeth transpiercing, drew him by his lance
Sheer o'er the chariot-front. As when a man
On some projecting rock advanc'd, with line
And splendid hook draws forth a sea-fish huge,
So him wide-gaping from his seat he drew
At his spear-point, then shook him to the ground
Prone on his face, where gasping he expir'd.