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Iliad of Homer, Rendered into English Blank Verse

<h3>ARGUMENT.</h3> THE REDEMPTION OF THE BODY OF HECTOR. The gods deliberate about the redemption of Hector’s body. Jupiter sends Thetis to Achilles to dispose him for the restoring it, and Iris to Priam, to encourage him to go in person, and treat for it. The old king, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his queen, makes ready for the journey, to which he is encouraged by an omen from Jupiter. He sets forth in his chariot, with a waggon loaded with presents, under the charge of Idaeus the herald. Mercury descends in the shape of a young man, and conducts him to the pavilion of Achilles. Their conversation on the way. Priam finds Achilles at his table, casts himself at his feet, and begs for the body of his son; Achilles, moved with compassion, grants his request, detains him one night in his tent, and the next morning sends him home with the body; the Trojans run out to meet him. The lamentation of Andromache, Hecuba, and Helen, with the solemnities of the funeral. The time of twelve days is employed in this book, while the body of Hector lies in the tent of Achilles. And as many more are spent in the truce allowed for his interment. The scene is partly in Achilles’ camp, and partly in Troy. <h2>BOOK XXIV.</h2> The games were ended, and the multitude Amid the ships their sev’ral ways dispers’d: Some to their supper, some to gentle sleep Yielding, delighted; but Achilles still Mourn’d o’er his lov’d companion; not on him Lighted all-conqu’ring sleep, but to and fro Restless he toss’d, and on Patroclus thought, His vigour and his courage; all the deeds They two together had achiev’d; the toils, The perils they had undergone, amid The strife of warriors, and the angry waves. Stirr’d by such mem’ries, bitter tears he shed; Now turning on his side, and now again Upon his back; then prone upon his face; Then starting to his feet, along the shore All objectless, despairing, would he roam; Nor did the morn, above the sea appearing, Unmark’d of him arise; his flying steeds He then would harness, and, behind the car The corpse of Hector trailing in the dust, Thrice make the circuit of Patroclus’ tomb; Then would he turn within his tent to rest, Leaving the prostrate corpse with dust defil’d; But from unseemly marks the valiant dead Apollo guarded, who with pity view’d The hero, though in death; and round him threw His golden aegis; nor, though dragg’d along, Allow’d his body to receive a wound. Thus foully did Achilles in his rage Misuse the mighty dead; the blessed Gods With pitying grief beheld the sight, and urg’d That Hermes should by stealth the corpse remove. The counsel pleas’d the rest; but Juno still, And Neptune, and the blue-ey’d Maid, retain’d The hatred, unappeas’d, with which of old Troy and her King and people they pursued; Since Paris to the rival Goddesses, Who to his sheepfold came, gave deep offence, Preferring her who brought him in return The fatal boon of too successful love. But when the twelfth revolving day was come, Apollo thus th’ assembled Gods address’d: “Shame on ye, Gods, ungrateful! have ye not, At Hector’s hand, of bulls and choicest goats Receiv’d your off’rings meet? and fear ye now E’en his dead corpse to save, and grant his wife, His mother, and his child, his aged sire And people, to behold him, and to raise His fun’ral pile, and with due rites entomb? But fell Achilles all your aid commands; Of mind unrighteous, and inflexible His stubborn heart; his thoughts are all of blood; E’en as a lion, whom his mighty strength And dauntless courage lead to leap the fold, And ’mid the trembling flocks to seize his prey; E’en so Achilles hath discarded ruth, And conscience, arbiter of good and ill. A man may lose his best-lov’d friend, a son, Or his own mother’s son, a brother dear: He mourns and weeps, but time his grief allays, For fate to man a patient mind hath giv’n: But godlike Hector’s body, after death, Achilles, unrelenting, foully drags, Lash’d to his car, around his comrade’s tomb. This is not to his praise; though brave he be, Yet thus our anger he may justly rouse, Who in his rage insults the senseless clay.” To whom, indignant, white-arm’d Juno thus: “Some show of reason were there in thy speech, God of the silver bow, could Hector boast Of equal dignity with Peleus’ son. A mortal one, and nurs’d at woman’s breast; The other, of a Goddess born, whom I Nurtur’d and rear’d, and to a mortal gave In marriage; gave to Peleus, best belov’d By all th’ Immortals, of the race of man. Ye, Gods, attended all the marriage rites; Thou too, companion base, false friend, wast there, And, playing on thy lyre, didst share the feast.” To whom the Cloud-compeller answer’d thus: “Juno, restrain thy wrath; they shall not both Attain like honour; yet was Hector once, Of all the mortals that in Ilium dwell, Dearest to all the Gods, and chief to me; For never did he fail his gifts to bring. And with, burnt-off’rings and libations due My altars crown; such worship I receiv’d. Yet shall bold Hector’s body, not without The knowledge of Achilles, be remov’d; For day and night his Goddess-mother keeps Her constant watch beside him. Then, some God Bid Thetis hither to my presence haste; And I with prudent words will counsel her, That so Achilles may at Priam’s hand Large ransom take, and set brave Hector free.” He said; and promptly on his errand sprang The storm-swift Iris; in the dark-blue sea She plung’d, midway ’twixt Imbros’ rugged shore And Samos’ isle; the parting waters plash’d. As down to ocean’s lowest depths she dropp’d, Like to a plummet, which the fisherman Lets fall, encas’d in wild bull’s horn, to bear Destruction to the sea’s voracious tribes. There found she Thetis in a hollow cave, Around her rang’d the Ocean Goddesses: She, in the midst, was weeping o’er the fate Her matchless son awaiting, doom’d to die Far from his home, on fertile plains of Troy. Swift-footed Iris at her side appear’d, And thus address’d her: “Hasten, Thetis; Jove, Lord of immortal counsel, summons thee.” To whom the silver-footed Goddess thus: “What would with me the mighty King of Heav’n? Press’d as I am with grief, I am asham’d To mingle with the Gods; yet will I go: Nor shall he speak in vain, whate’er his words.” Thus as she spoke, her veil the Goddess took, All black, than which none deeper could be found; She rose to go; the storm-swift Iris led The way before her; ocean’s parted waves Around their path receded; to the beach Ascending, upwards straight to Heav’n they sprang. Th’ all-seeing son of Saturn there they found, And rang’d around him all th’ immortal Gods. Pallas made way; and by the throne of Jove Sat Thetis, Juno proff’ring to her hand A goblet fair of gold, and adding words Of welcome; she the cup receiv’d, and drank. Then thus began the sire of Gods and men: “Thou, Thetis, sorrowing to Olympus com’st, Borne down by ceaseless grief; I know it well; Yet hear the cause for which I summon’d thee. About Achilles, thy victorious son, And valiant Hector’s body, for nine days Hath contest been in Heav’n; and some have urg’d That Hermes should by stealth the corpse remove. This to Achilles’ praise I mean to turn, And thus thy rev’rence and thy love retain. Then haste thee to the camp, and to thy son My message bear; tell him that all the Gods Are fill’d with wrath; and I above the rest Am angry, that beside the beaked ships, He, mad with rage, the corpse of Hector keeps: So may he fear me, and restore the dead. Iris meantime to Priam I will send, And bid him seek the Grecian ships, and there Obtain his son’s release: and with him bring Such presents as may melt Achilles’ heart.” He said; the silver-footed Queen obey’d; Down from Olympus’ heights in haste she sped, And sought her son; him found she in his tent, Groaning with anguish, while his comrades round, Plying their tasks, prepar’d the morning meal. For them a goodly sheep, full-fleec’d, was slain. Close by his side his Goddess-mother stood, And gently touch’d him with her hand, and said, “How long, my son, wilt thou thy soul consume With grief and mourning, mindful nor of food Nor sleep? nor dost thou wisely, to abstain From woman’s love; for short thy time on earth: Death and imperious fate are close at hand. Hear then my words; a messenger from Jove To thee I come, to tell thee that the Gods Are fill’d with wrath, and he above the rest Is angry, that beside the beaked ships Thou, mad with rage, the corpse of Hector keep’st. Then ransom take, and liberate the dead.” To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied: “So be it; ransom let him bring, and bear His dead away, if such the will of Jove.” Thus, in the concourse of the ships, they two, Mother and son, their lengthen’d converse held. Then Saturn’s son to Iris gave command: “Haste thee, swift Iris, from Olympus’ height, To Troy, to royal Priam bear my words; And bid him seek the Grecian ships, and there Obtain his son’s release; and with him take Such presents as may melt Achilles’ heart. Alone, no Trojan with him, must he go; Yet may a herald on his steps attend, Some aged man, his smoothly-rolling car And mules to drive; and to the city back To bring his dead, whom great Achilles slew. Nor let the fear of death disturb his mind: Hermes shall with him, as his escort, go, And to Achilles’ presence safely bring. Arriv’d within the tent, nor he himself Will slay him, but from others will protect. Not ignorant is he, nor void of sense, Nor disobedient to the Gods’ behest But will with pitying eyes his suppliant view.” He said; and on his errand sped in haste The storm-swift Iris; when to Priam’s house She came, the sounds of wailing met her ear. Within the court, around their father, sat His sons, their raiment all bedew’d with tears; And in the midst, close cover’d with his robe, Their sire, his head and neck with dirt defil’d, Which, wallowing on the earth, himself had heap’d, With his own hands, upon his hoary head. Throughout the house his daughters loudly wail’d In mem’ry of the many and the brave Who lay in death, by Grecian warriors slain. Beside him stood the messenger of Jove, And whisper’d, while his limbs with terror shook: “Fear nothing, Priam, son of Dardanus, Nor let thy mind be troubled; not for ill, But here on kindly errand am I sent: To thee I come, a messenger from Jove, Who from on high looks down on thee with eyes Of pitying love; he bids thee ransom home The godlike Hector’s corpse; and with thee take Such presents as may melt Achilles’ heart. Alone, no Trojan with thee, must thou go; Yet may a herald on thy steps attend, Some aged man, thy smoothly-rolling car And mules to drive, and to the city back To bring thy dead, whom great Achilles slew. Nor let the fear of death disturb thy mind: Hermes shall with thee, as thine escort, go, And to Achilles’ presence safely bring. Arriv’d within the tent, nor he himself Will slay thee, but from others will protect; Not ignorant is he, nor void of sense, Nor disobedient to the Gods’ behest, But will with pitying eyes his suppliant view.” Swift-footed Iris said, and vanish’d straight: He to his sons commandment gave, the mules To yoke beneath the smoothly-rolling car, And on the axle fix the wicker seat. Himself the lofty cedar chamber sought, Fragrant, high-roof’d, with countless treasures stor’d; And call’d to Hecuba his wife, and said, “Good wife, a messenger from Jove hath come, Who bids me seek the Grecian ships, and there Obtain my son’s release; and with me take Such presents as may melt Achilles’ heart. Say then, what think’st thou? for my mind inclines To seek the ships within the Grecian camp.” So he; but Hecuba lamenting cried, “Alas, alas! where are thy senses gone? And where the wisdom, once of high repute ’Mid strangers, and ’mid those o’er whom thou reign’st? How canst thou think alone to seek the ships, Ent’ring his presence, who thy sons hath slain, Many and brave? an iron heart is thine! Of that bloodthirsty and perfidious man, If thou within the sight and reach shalt come, No pity will he feel, no rev’rence show: Rather remain we here apart and mourn; For him, when at his birth his thread of life Was spun by fate, ’twas destin’d that afar From home and parents, he should glut the maw Of rav’ning dogs, by that stern warrior’s tent, Whose inmost heart I would I could devour: Such for my son were adequate revenge, Whom not in ignominious flight he slew; But standing, thoughtless of escape or flight, For Trojan men and Troy’s deep-bosom’d dames.” To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire: “Seek not to hinder me; nor be thyself A bird of evil omen in my house; For thou shalt not persuade me. If indeed This message had been brought by mortal man, Prophet, or seer, or sacrificing priest, I should have deem’d it false, and laugh’d to scorn The idle tale; but now (for I myself Both saw and heard the Goddess) I must go; Nor unfulfill’d shall be the words I speak: And if indeed it be my fate to die Beside the vessels of the brass-clad Greeks, I am content! by fierce Achilles’ hand Let me be slain, so once more in my arms I hold my boy, and give my sorrow vent.” Then raising up the coffer’s polish’d lid, He chose twelve gorgeous shawls, twelve single cloaks. As many rugs, as many splendid robes, As many tunics; then of gold he took Ten talents full; two tripods, burnish’d bright, Four caldrons; then a cup of beauty rare, A rich possession, which the men of Thrace Had giv’n, when there he went ambassador; E’en this he spar’d not, such his keen desire His son to ransom. From the corridor With angry words he drove the Trojans all: “Out with ye, worthless rascals, vagabonds! Have ye no griefs at home, that here ye come To pester me? or is it not enough That Jove with deep affliction visits me, Slaying my bravest son? ye to your cost Shall know his loss: since now that he is gone, The Greeks shall find you easier far to slay. But may my eyes be clos’d in death, ere see The city sack’d, and utterly destroy’d.” He said, and with his staff drove out the crowd; Before the old man’s anger fled they all; Then to his sons in threat’ning tone he cried; To Paris, Helenus, and Agathon, Pammon, Antiphonus, Polites brave, Deiphobus, and bold Hippothous, And godlike Dius; all these nine with threats And angry taunts the aged sire assail’d: “Haste, worthless sons, my scandal and my shame! Would that ye all beside the Grecian ships In Hector’s stead had died! Oh woe is me, Who have begotten sons, in all the land The best and bravest; now remains not one; Mestor, and Troilus, dauntless charioteer, And Hector, who a God ’mid men appear’d, Nor like a mortal’s offspring, but a God’s: All these hath Mars cut off; and left me none, None but the vile and refuse; liars all, Vain skipping coxcombs, in the dance alone, And in nought else renown’d; base plunderers, From their own countrymen, of lambs and kids. When, laggards, will ye harness me the car Equipp’d with all things needed for the way?” He said; they quail’d beneath their father’s wrath, And brought the smoothly-running mule-wain out, Well-fram’d, new-built; and fix’d the wicker seat; Then from the peg the mule-yoke down they took, Of boxwood wrought, with boss and rings complete; And with the yoke, the yoke-band brought they forth, Nine cubits long; and to the polish’d pole At the far end attach’d; the breast-rings then Fix’d to the pole-piece: and on either side Thrice round the knob the leathern thong they wound. And bound it fast, and inward turn’d the tongue. Then the rich ransom, from the chambers brought, Of Hector’s head, upon the wain they pil’d; And yok’d the strong-hoof’d mules, to harness train’d, The Mysians’ splendid present to the King: To Priam’s car they harness’d then the steeds, Which he himself at polish’d manger fed. Deep thoughts revolving, in the lofty halls Were met the herald and the aged King, When Hecuba with troubled mind drew near; In her right hand a golden cup she bore Of luscious wine, that ere they took their way They to the Gods might due libations pour; Before the car she stood, and thus she spoke: “Take, and to father Jove thine off’ring pour, And pray that he may bring thee safely home From all thy foes; since sore against my will Thou needs wilt venture to the ships of Greece. Then to Idaean Jove, the cloud-girt son Of Saturn, who th’ expanse of Troy surveys, Prefer thy pray’r, beseeching him to send, On thy right hand, a winged messenger, The bird he loves the best, of strongest flight; That thou thyself mayst see and know the sign, And, firm in faith, approach the ships of Greece. But should all-seeing Jove the sign withhold, Then not with my consent shouldst thou attempt, Whate’er thy wish, to reach the Grecian ships.” To whom, in answer, godlike Priam thus: “O woman, I refuse not to obey Thy counsel; good it is to raise the hands In pray’r to Heav’n, and Jove’s protection seek.” The old man said; and bade th’ attendant pour Pure water on his hands; with ewer she, And basin, stood beside him: from his wife, The due ablutions made, he took the cup; Then in the centre of the court he stood, And as he pour’d the wine, look’d up to Heav’n, And thus with voice uplifted pray’d aloud: “O father Jove, who rul’st on Ida’s height, Most great, most glorious! grant that I may find Some pity in Achilles’ heart; and send, On my right hand, a winged messenger, The bird thou lov’st the best, of strongest flight, That I myself may see and know the sign, And, firm in faith, approach the ships of Greece.” Thus as he pray’d, the Lord of counsel heard; And sent forthwith an eagle, feather’d king, Dark bird of chase, and Dusky thence surnam’d: Wide as the portals, well secur’d with bolts, That guard some wealthy monarch’s lofty hall, On either side his ample pinions spread. On the right hand appear’d he, far above The city soaring; they the fav’ring sign With joy beheld, and ev’ry heart was cheer’d. Mounting his car in haste, the aged King Drove thro’ the court, and thro’ the echoing porch; The mules in front, by sage Idaeus driv’n, That drew the four-wheel’d wain; behind them came The horses, down the city’s steep descent Urg’d by th’ old man to speed; the crowd of friends That follow’d mourn’d for him, as doom’d to death. Descended from the city to the plain, His sons and sons-in-law to Ilium took Their homeward way; advancing o’er the plain They two escap’d not Jove’s all-seeing eye; Pitying he saw the aged sire; and thus At once to Hermes spoke, his much-lov’d son: “Hermes, for thou in social converse lov’st To mix with men, and hear’st whome’er thou wilt; Haste thee, and Priam to the Grecian ships So lead, that none of all the Greeks may see Ere at Achilles’ presence he attain.” He said; nor disobey’d the heav’nly Guide; His golden sandals on his feet he bound, Ambrosial work; which bore him o’er the waves, Swift as the wind, and o’er the wide-spread earth; Then took his rod, wherewith he seals at will The eyes of men, and wakes again from sleep. This in his hand he bore, and sprang for flight. Soon the wide Hellespont he reach’d, and Troy, And pass’d in likeness of a princely youth, In op’ning manhood, fairest term of life. The twain had pass’d by Ilus’ lofty tomb, And halted there the horses and the mules Beside the margin of the stream to drink; For darkness now was creeping o’er the earth: When through the gloom the herald Hermes saw Approaching near, to Priam thus he cried: “O son of Dardanus, bethink thee well; Of prudent counsel great is now our need. A man I see, and fear he means us ill. Say, with the horses shall we fly at once, Or clasp his knees, and for his mercy sue?” The old man heard, his mind confus’d with dread; So grievously he fear’d, that ev’ry hair Upon his bended limbs did stand on end; He stood astounded; but the Guardian-God Approach’d, and took him by the hand, and said: “Where, father, goest thou thus with horse and mule In the still night, when men are sunk in sleep? And fear’st thou not the slaughter-breathing Greeks, Thine unrelenting foes, and they so near? If any one of them should see thee now, So richly laden in the gloom of night, How wouldst thou feel? thou art not young thyself, And this old man, thy comrade, would avail But little to protect thee from assault. I will not harm thee, nay will shield from harm, For like my father’s is, methinks, thy face.” To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire: “’Tis as thou say’st, fair son; yet hath some God Extended o’er me his protecting hand, Who sends me such a guide, so opportune. Bless’d are thy parents in a son so grac’d In face and presence, and of mind so wise.” To whom in answer thus the Guardian-God: “O father, well and wisely dost thou speak; But tell me this, and truly: dost thou bear These wealthy treasures to some foreign land, That they for thee in safety may be stor’d? Or have ye all resolv’d to fly from Troy In fear, your bravest slain, thy gallant son, Who never from the Greeks’ encounter flinch’d?” To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire: “Who art thou, noble Sir, and what thy race, That speak’st thus fairly of my hapless son?” To whom in answer thus the Guardian-God: “Try me, old man; of godlike Hector ask; For often in the glory-giving fight These eyes have seen him; chief, when to the ships The Greeks he drove, and with the sword destroy’d. We gaz’d in wonder; from the fight restrain’d By Peleus’ son, with Agamemnon wroth. His follower I; one ship convey’d us both; One of the Myrmidons I am; my sire Polyctor, rich, but aged, e’en as thou. Six sons he hath, besides myself, the sev’nth; And I by lot was drafted for the war. I from the ships am to the plain come forth; For with the dawn of day the keen-ey’d Greeks Will round the city marshal their array. They chafe in idleness; the chiefs in vain Strive to restrain their ardour for the fight.” To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire: “If of Achilles, Peleus’ son, thou art Indeed a follower, tell me all the truth; Lies yet my son beside the Grecian ships, Or hath Achilles torn him limb from limb, And to his dogs the mangled carcase giv’n?” To whom in answer thus the Guardian-God: “On him, old man, nor dogs nor birds have fed, But by the ship of Peleus’ son he lies Within the tent; twelve days he there hath lain, Nor hath corruption touch’d his flesh, nor worms, That wont to prey on men in battle slain. The corpse, indeed, with each returning morn, Around his comrade’s tomb Achilles drags, Yet leaves it still uninjur’d; thou thyself Mightst see how fresh, as dew-besprent, he lies, From blood-stains cleans’d, and clos’d his many wounds, For many a lance was buried in his corpse. So, e’en in death, the blessed Gods above, Who lov’d him well, protect thy noble son.” He said; th’ old man rejoicing heard his words, And answer’d, “See, my son, how good it is To give th’ immortal Gods their tribute due; For never did my son, while yet he liv’d, Neglect the Gods who on Olympus dwell; And thence have they remember’d him in death. Accept, I pray, this goblet rich-emboss’d; Be thou my guard, and, under Heav’n, my guide, Until I reach the tent of Peleus’ son.” To whom in answer thus the Guardian-God: “Old father, me thy younger wouldst thou tempt, In vain; who bidd’st me at thy hands accept Thy proffer’d presents, to Achilles’ wrong. I dread his anger; and should hold it shame To plunder him, through fear of future ill. But, as thy guide, I could conduct thee safe, As far as Argos, journeying by thy side, On ship-board or on foot; nor by the fault Of thy conductor shouldst thou meet with harm.” Thus spoke the Guardian-God, and on the car Mounting in haste, he took the whip and reins, And with fresh vigour mules and horses fill’d. When to the ship-tow’rs and the trench they came, The guard had late been busied with their meal; And with deep sleep the heav’nly Guide o’erspread The eyes of all; then open’d wide the gates, And push’d aside the bolts, and led within Both Priam, and the treasure-laden wain. But when they reach’d Achilles’ lofty tent, (Which for their King the Myrmidons had built Of fir-trees fell’d, and overlaid the roof With rushes mown from off the neighb’ring mead; And all around a spacious court enclos’d With cross-set palisades; a single bar Of fir the gateway guarded, which to shut Three men, of all the others, scarce suffic’d, And three to open; but Achilles’ hand Unaided shut with ease the massive bar) Then for the old man Hermes op’d the gate, And brought within the court the gifts design’d For Peleus’ godlike son; then from the car Sprang to the ground, and thus to Priam spoke: “Old man, a God hath hither been thy guide; Hermes I am, and sent to thee from Jove, Father of all, to bring thee safely here. I now return, nor to Achilles’ eyes Will I appear; beseems it not a God To greet a mortal in the sight of all. But go thou in, and clasp Achilles’ knees, And supplicate him for his father’s sake, His fair-hair’d mother’s, and his child’s, that so Thy words may stir an answer in his heart.” Thus saying, Hermes to Olympus’ heights Return’d; and Priam from his chariot sprang, And left Idaeus there, in charge to keep The horses and the mules, while he himself Enter’d the dwelling straight, where wont to sit Achilles, lov’d of Heav’n. The chief he found Within, his followers seated all apart; Two only in his presence minister’d, The brave Automedon, and Alcimus, A warrior bold; scarce ended the repast Of food and wine; the table still was set. Great Priam enter’d, unperceiv’d of all; And standing by Achilles, with his arms Embrac’d his knees, and kiss’d those fearful hands, Blood-stain’d, which many of his sons had slain. As when a man, by cruel fate pursued, In his own land hath shed another’s blood, And flying, seeks beneath some wealthy house A foreign refuge; wond’ring, all behold: On godlike Priam so with wonder gaz’d Achilles; wonder seiz’d th’ attendants all, And one to other looked; then Priam thus To Peleus’ son his suppliant speech address’d: “Think, great Achilles, rival of the Gods, Upon thy father, e’en as I myself Upon the threshold of unjoyous age: And haply he, from them that dwell around May suffer wrong, with no protector near To give him aid; yet he, rejoicing, knows That thou still liv’st; and day by day may hope To see his son returning safe from Troy; While I, all hapless, that have many sons, The best and bravest through the breadth of Troy, Begotten, deem that none are left me now. Fifty there were, when came the sons of Greece; Nineteen the offspring of a single womb; The rest, the women of my household bore. Of these have many by relentless Mars Been laid in dust; but he, my only one, The city’s and his brethren’s sole defence, He, bravely fighting in his country’s cause, Hector, but lately by thy hand hath fall’n: On his behalf I venture to approach The Grecian ships; for his release to thee To make my pray’r, and priceless ransom pay. Then thou, Achilles, reverence the Gods; And, for thy father’s sake, look pitying down On me, more needing pity; since I bear Such grief as never man on earth hath borne. Who stoop to kiss the hand that slew my son.” Thus as he spoke, within Achilles’ breast Fond mem’ry of his father rose; he touch’d The old man’s hand, and gently put him by; Then wept they both, by various mem’ries stirr’d: One, prostrate at Achilles’ feet, bewail’d His warrior son; Achilles for his sire, And for Patroclus wept, his comrade dear; And through the house their weeping loud was heard. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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