ὡς ἄρα φωνήσασα: μένος πολυθαρσὲς ἐνῆκε:
Πατρόκλῳ δ' αὖτ' ἀμβροσίην καὶ νέκταρ ἐρυθρὸν
στάξε κατὰ ῥινῶν: ἵνα οἱ χρὼς ἔμπεδος εἴη:
So saying, she filled him with dauntless courage, and on Patroclus she shed ambrosia and ruddy nectar through his nostrils, that his flesh might be sound continually.
