Book XXIV

The Body of Hector Recovered

A council of the gods⁠—Thetis sent to make Achilles willing to restore the body of Hector to his friends⁠—Iris sent to Priam, bidding him go in person to Achilles and ask for the body⁠—Visit of Priam made by night to the tent of Achilles, who is moved by his entreaties and magnificent presents to deliver up the remains of his son⁠—Departure of Priam by night with the body from the tent of Achilles⁠—Lament of Andromache, Hector, and Helen over the dead⁠—The funeral of Hector, with which the poem closes.

The assembly was dissolved, the people all

Dispersed to their swift galleys, and prepared

With food and gentle slumber to refresh

Their wearied frames. But still Achilles wept,

Remembering his dear comrade. Sleep, whose sway

Is over all, came not; he turned and tossed,

Still yearning for his strong and valiant friend

Patroclus. All that they had ever done

Together, all the hardships they had borne,

The battles fought with heroes, the wild seas

O’erpassed, came thronging on his memory.

He shed warm tears, as now upon his sides,

Now on his back, now on his face he lay.

Then, starting from his couch, he wandered forth

In sorrow by the margin of the deep.

Nor did the morn that rose o’er sea and shore

Dawn unperceived by him; for then he yoked

His fleet steeds to the chariot, and made fast

The corse of Hector, that it might be dragged

After the wheels. Three times around the tomb

Of Menoetiades he dragged the slain,

Then turned and sought his tent, again to rest,

And left him there stretched out amid the dust

With the face downward. Yet Apollo, moved

With pity for the hero, kept him free

From soil or stain, though dead, and o’er him held

The golden aegis, lest, when roughly dragged

Along the ground, the body might be torn.

So in his anger did Achilles treat

Unworthily the noble Hector’s corse.

The blessed gods themselves with pity looked

Upon the slain, and bade the vigilant one,

The Argus-queller, bear him thence by stealth.

This counsel pleased the immortals all, except

Juno and Neptune and the blue-eyed maid,

And these persisted in their wrath. To them

Ilium, the hallowed city, and its king,

Priam, and all his people, from the first

Were hateful; ’twas for Alexander’s fault,

Affronting the two goddesses what time

They sought his cottage, and preferring her

Who ministered to his calamitous love.

But now, when the twelfth morning from that day

Arose, Apollo spake among the gods:⁠—

“Cruel are ye, O gods, and prone to wrong.

For was not Hector wont before your shrines

To burn the thighs of chosen bulls and goats?

And now that he is dead ye venture not

To rescue him, and let his wife and son

And mother and King Priam look again

Upon his face. Soon would they light the pile,

And burn the dead, and pay the funeral rite.

Ye seek to favor, O ye gods, that pest

Achilles, in whose breast there dwells no love

Of justice, nor a temper to be moved

By prayers, but who delights in savage deeds.

And as a lion, conscious of vast strength

And scornful of resistance, falls upon

The shepherd’s flock, and slays for his repast,

Thus with Achilles neither mercy dwells

Nor shame, which often profits, often harms

Mankind. For when another man has met

A greater grief than he⁠—has lost, perchance,

A brother or a son⁠—he dries at length

His tears, and ceases to lament; for fate

Bestows the power to suffer patiently.

But this Achilles, after he has spoiled

The godlike Hector of his life in war,

Hath bound him to his chariot, and hath dragged

The corse around his dear companion’s tomb.

Unseemly is the deed, and small will be

The good it brings him. Brave although he be,

We may be angry with him when he thus

Insults a portion of insensible earth.”

The white-armed Juno was incensed, and spake:

“So mightst thou say, God of the silver bow,

Were equal honor to Achilles due

And Hector. Hector is a mortal man,

And suckled at a woman’s breast. Not so

Achilles; he was born of one of us,

A goddess whom I nurtured and brought up

And gave to Peleus. Ye were present all,

Ye gods, when they were wedded. Thou wert there

To share the marriage banquet, harp in hand,

Thou plotter with the vile, thou faithless one!”

Then answered cloud-compelling Jove, and said:

“Let not thy anger rise against the gods,

O Juno, for the honor of the chiefs

Shall not be equal. Yet of all the race

Of mortals dwelling in the city of Troy

Was Hector dearest to the gods; to me

He ever was; and never did he fail

To offer welcome gifts. My altar ne’er

Lacked fitting feast, libation, and the fume

Of incense⁠—hallowed rites which are our due.

Yet seek we not to steal away the corse

Of valiant Hector; that we could not do

Without his slayer’s knowledge, who by night

And day is ever near to him and keeps

Watch o’er him like a mother. Let some god

Call hither Thetis. I will counsel her

Prudently, that Achilles may receive

Ransom from Priam, and restore his son.”

He ceased, and with the swiftness of the storm

Rose Iris up, to be his messenger.

Half way ’twixt Samos and the rugged coast

Of Imbrus down she plunged to the dark sea,

Entering the deep with noise. Far down she sank

As sinks the ball of lead, that, sliding o’er

A wild bull’s horn, bears into ocean’s depths

Death to the greedy fishes. There she found

Thetis within her roomy cave, among

The goddesses of ocean, seated round

In full assembly. Thetis in the midst

Bewailed the fate of her own blameless son,

About to perish on the fertile soil

Of Troy, and far from Greece. The swift of wing,

Iris, approached her and addressed her thus:⁠—

“Arise, O Thetis. Father Jupiter,

Whose counsel stands forever, sends for thee.”

And silver-footed Thetis answered him:

“Why should that potent deity require

My presence, who have many griefs, and shrink

From mingling with immortals? Yet I go,

Perforce, for never doth he speak in vain.”

So spake the goddess-queen, and, speaking, took

Her mantle⁠—darker web was never worn⁠—

And onward went. Wind-footed Iris led

The way; the waters of the sea withdrew

On either side. They climbed the steepy shore,

And took their way to heaven. They found the son

Of Saturn, him of the far-sounding voice,

With all the blessed, ever-living gods

Assembled round him. Close to Father Jove

She took her seat, for Pallas yielded it,

And Juno put a beautiful cup of gold

Into her hand, and spake consoling words.

She drank and gave it back, and thus began

The father of immortals and of men:⁠—

“Thou comest to Olympus, though in grief,

O goddess Thetis, and I know the cause

That makes thee sad and will not from thy thoughts;

Yet let me now declare why I have called

Thee hither. For nine days the immortal gods

Have been at strife concerning Hector’s corse

And Peleus’ son, the spoiler. They have asked

The vigilant Argus-queller to remove

The dead by stealth. But I must yet bestow

Fresh honor on Achilles, and thus keep

Thy love and reverence. Now descend at once

Into the camp and carry to thy son

My message: say that it offends the gods,

And me the most, that in his spite he keeps

The corse of Hector at the beaked ships,

Refusing to restore it. He perchance

Will listen, and, revering me, give back

The slain. And I will send a messenger,

Iris, to large-souled Priam, bidding him

Hasten in person to the Grecian fleet,

To ransom his beloved son, and bring

Achilles gifts that shall appease his rage.”

He spake: the goddess of the silver feet,

Thetis, obeyed, and with precipitate flight

Descended from the mountain-peaks. She came

To her son’s tent, and found him uttering moans

Continually, while his beloved friends

Were busy round him; they prepared a feast,

And had just slain within the tent a ewe

Of ample size and fleece. She took her seat

Beside her son, and smoothed his brow, and said:⁠—

“How long, my son, wilt thou lament and grieve

And pine at heart, abstaining from the feast

And from thy couch? Yet well it is to seek

A woman’s love. Thy life will not be spared

Long time to me, for death and cruel fate

Stand near thee. Listen to me; I am come

A messenger from Jove, who bids me say

The immortals are offended, and himself

The most, that thou shouldst in thy spite detain

The corse of Hector at the beaked ships,

Refusing its release. Comply thou then,

And take the ransom and restore the dead.”

And thus Achilles, swift of foot, replied:

“Let him who brings the ransom come and take

The body, if it be the will of Jove.”

Thus did the mother and the son confer

Among the galleys, and between them passed

Full many a wingèd word, while Saturn’s son

Bade Iris go with speed to sacred Troy:⁠—

“Fleet Iris, haste thee. Leave the Olympian seats,

And send magnanimous Priam to the fleet,

To ransom his dear son, and bear him back

To Ilium. Let him carry gifts to calm

The anger of Achilles. He should go

Alone, no Trojan with him, save a man

In years, a herald, who may guide the mules

And strong-wheeled chariot, harnessed to bear back

Him whom the great Achilles has o’erthrown;

And let him fear not death nor other harm,

For we will send a guide to lead him safe,

The Argus-queller, till he stand beside

Achilles; and when once he comes within

The warrior’s tent, Achilles will not raise

His hand to slay, but will restrain the rest.

Nor mad, nor rash, nor criminal is he,

And will humanely spare a suppliant man.”

He spake, and Iris, the swift messenger,

Whose feet are like the wind, went forth with speed,

And came to Priam’s palace, where she found

Sorrow and wailing. Round the father sat

His sons within the hall, and steeped with tears

Their garments. In the midst the aged man

Sat with a cloak wrapped round him, and much dust

Strewn on his head and neck, which, when he rolled

Upon the earth, he gathered with his hands.

His daughters and the consorts of his sons

Filled with their cries the mansion, sorrowing

For those, the many and brave, who now lay slain

By Grecian hands. The ambassadress of Jove

Stood beside Priam, and in soft, low tones,

While his limbs shook with fear, addressed him thus:⁠—

“Be comforted, and have no fear; for I

Am come, Dardanian Priam, not to bring

Mischief, but blessing. I am sent to thee

A messenger from Jove, who, though afar,

Pities thee and will aid thee. He who rules

Olympus bids thee ransom thy slain son,

The noble Hector, carrying gifts to calm

The anger of Achilles. Thou shouldst go

Alone, no Trojan with thee, save a man

In years, a herald, who shall guide the mules

And strong-wheeled chariot, harnessed to bring back

Him whom the great Achilles has o’erthrown.

And have no fear of death or other harm;

A guide shall go with thee to lead thee safe,

The Argus-queller, till thou stand beside

Achilles, and when once thou art within

The warrior’s tent, Achilles will not raise

His hand to slay, but will restrain the rest.

He is not mad, nor rash, nor prone to crime,

And will humanely spare a suppliant man.”

Thus the swift-footed Iris spake, and then

Departed. Priam bade his sons prepare

The strong-wheeled chariot, drawn by mules, and bind

A coffer on it. He descended next

Into a fragrant chamber, cedar-lined,

High-roofed, and stored with many things of price,

And calling Hecuba, his wife, he said:⁠—

“Dear wife, a message from Olympian Jove

Commands that I betake me to the fleet,

And thence redeem my slaughtered son with gifts

That may appease Achilles. Tell me now

How this may seem to thee? for I am moved

By a strong impulse to approach the ships,

And venture into the great Grecian camp.”

He spake: his consort wept, and answered thus:

“Ah me! The prudence which was once so praised

By strangers and by those who own thy sway,

Where is it now? Why wouldst thou go alone

To the Greek fleet, to meet the eye of him

Who slew so many of thy gallant sons?

An iron heart is thine. If that false man,

Remorseless as he is, should see thee there

And seize thee, neither pity nor respect

Hast thou to hope from him. Let us lament

Our Hector in these halls. A cruel fate

Spun, when I brought him forth, his thread of life⁠—

That far from us his corse should feed the hounds

Near that fierce man, whose liver I could tear

From out his bosom. Then the indignities

Done to my son would be repaid, for he

Was slain, not shunning combat, coward-like,

But fighting to defend the men of Troy

And the deep-bosomed Trojan dames. He fell

Without a thought of flight or of retreat.”

And thus the aged, godlike king rejoined:

“Keep me not back from going, nor be thou

A bird of evil omen in these halls,

For thou shalt not persuade me. This I say:

If any of the dwellers of the earth,

Soothsayer, seer, or priest, had said to me

What I have heard, I well might deem the words

A lie, and heed them not. But since I heard

Myself the mandate from a deity,

And saw her face to face, I certainly

Will go, nor shall the message be in vain.

And should it be my fate to perish there

Beside the galleys of the mail-clad Greeks,

So be it; for Achilles will forthwith

Put me to death embracing my poor son,

And satisfying my desire to weep.”

He spake, and, raising the fair coffer-lids,

Took out twelve robes of state most beautiful,

Twelve single cloaks, as many tapestried mats,

And tunics next and mantles twelve of each,

And ten whole talents of pure gold, which first

He weighed. Two burnished tripods from his store

He added, and four goblets and a cup

Of eminent beauty, which the men of Thrace

Gave him when, as an envoy to their coast,

He came from Troy⁠—a sumptuous gift, and yet

The aged king reserved not even this

To deck his palace, such was his desire

To ransom his dear son. And then he drave

Away the Trojans hovering round his porch,

Rebuking them with sharp and bitter words:⁠—

“Hence with you, worthless wretches! Have ye not

Sorrow enough at home, that ye are come

To vex me thus? Or doth it seem to you

Of little moment, that Saturnian Jove

Hath sent such grief upon me in the loss

Of my most valiant son? Ye yet will know

How great that loss has been; for it will be

A lighter task for the beleaguering Greeks

To work our ruin, now that he is dead.

But I shall sink to Hades ere mine eyes

Behold the city sacked and made a spoil.”

He spake, and with his staff he chased away

The loiterers; forth before the aged man

They went. With like harsh words he chid his sons.

Helenus, Paris, noble Agathon,

Pammon, Antiphonus, Deïphobus,

Polites, great in war, Hippothoüs,

And gallant Dios, nine in all he called,

And thus bespake them with reproachful words:⁠—

“Make haste, ye idle fellows, my disgrace!

Would ye had all been slain beside the fleet

Instead of Hector! Woe is me! The most

Unhappy of mankind am I, who had

The bravest sons in all the town of Troy,

And none of them, I think, are left to me.

Mestor, divine in presence, Troilus,

The gallant knight, and Hector, he who looked

A god among his countrymen⁠—no son

Of man he seemed, but of immortal birth⁠—

Those Mars has slain, but these who are my shame

Remain⁠—these liars, dancers, excellent

In choirs, whose trade is public robbery

Of lambs and kids. Why haste ye not to get

My chariot ready, and bestow these things

Within it, that my journey may begin?”

He spake, and they, in fear of his rebuke,

Lifted from out its place the strong-wheeled car,

Framed to be drawn by mules, and beautiful,

And newly built, and on it they made fast

The coffer. From its pin they next took down

The boxwood mule-yoke, fitted well with rings,

And carved with a smooth boss. With this they brought

A yoke-band nine ells long, which carefully

Adjusting to the polished pole’s far end,

They cast the ring upon the bolt, and thrice

Wound the long band on each side of the bolt

Around the yoke, and made it fast, and turned

The loose ends under. Then they carried forth

The treasures that should ransom Hector’s corse;

And having piled them in the polished car,

They yoked the hardy, strong-hoofed mules which once

The Mysians gave to Priam, princely gifts.

To bear the yoke of Priam they led forth

The horses which the aged man himself

Fed at the polished manger. These the king

Yoked, aided by the herald, while in mind,

Within the palace court, they both revolved

Their prudent counsels. Hecuba, the queen,

Came to them in deep sorrow. In her hand

She bore a golden cup of delicate wine,

That they might make libations and depart.

She stood before the steeds, and thus she spake:⁠—

“Take this, and pour to Father Jove, and pray

That thou mayst safely leave the enemy’s camp

For home, since ’tis thy will, though I dissuade,

To go among the ships. Implore thou then

The god of Ida and the gatherer

Of the black tempest, Saturn’s son, who looks

Down on all Troy, to send his messenger,

His swift and favorite bird, of matchless strength,

On thy right hand, that, with thine eye on him,

Thou mayst with courage journey to the ships

Of the Greek horsemen. But if Jupiter

All-seeing should withhold his messenger,

I cannot bid thee, eager as thou art,

Adventure near the galleys of the Greeks.”

And thus the godlike Priam made reply:

“Dear wife, indeed, I will not disobey

Thy counsel; meet it is to raise our hands

To Jove, and ask him to be merciful.”

He spake, and bade the attendant handmaid pour

Pure water on his hands, for near him stood

A maid who came and held a basin forth

And ewer. When his hands were washed, he took

The goblet from the queen, and then, in prayer,

Stood in the middle of the court, and poured

The wine, and, looking heavenward, spake aloud:⁠—

“O Father Jove, most glorious and most great,

Who rulest all from Ida, let me find

Favor and pity with Achilles. Send

A messenger, thy own swift, favorite bird,

Of matchless strength, on my right hand, that I,

Beholding him, may confidently pass

To where the fleet of the Greek horsemen lies!”

Thus in his prayer he spake, and Jupiter,

The All-disposer, hearkened, and sent forth

An eagle, bird of surest augury,

Named the Black Chaser, and by others called

Percnos, with wings as broad as is the door

Skilfully fashioned for the lofty hall

Of some rich man, and fastened with a bolt.

Such ample wings he spread on either side

As townward on the right they saw him fly.

They saw and they rejoiced; their hearts grew light

Within their bosoms. Then the aged king

Hastened to mount the polished car, and drave

Through vestibule and echoing porch. The mules,

Harnessed to draw the four-wheeled car, went first,

Driven by the sage Idaeus; after them,

The horses, urged by Priam with the lash

Rapidly through the city. All his friends

Followed lamenting, as for one who went

To meet his death. And now when they had reached

The plain descending from the town, the sons

And sons-in-law of Priam all returned

To Ilium, and the twain proceeded on,

Yet not unmarked by all-beholding Jove,

Who, moved with pity for the aged man,

Turned to his well-beloved son and said:⁠—

“Hermes, who more than any other god

Delightest to consort with human kind,

And willingly dost listen to their prayers,

Haste, guide King Priam to the Grecian fleet,

Yet so that none may see him, and no Greek

Know of his coming, till he stand before

Pelides.” Thus he spake: the messenger

Who slew the Argus hearkened and obeyed;

And hastily beneath his feet he bound

The fair, ambrosial, golden sandals worn

To bear him over ocean like the wind,

And o’er the boundless land. His wand he took

Wherewith he seals in sleep the eyes of men,

And opens them at will. With this in hand,

The mighty Argus-queller flew, and soon

Was at the Troad and the Hellespont.

Like to some royal stripling seemed the god,

In youth’s first prime, when youth has most of grace.

And there the Trojans twain, when they had passed

The tomb of Ilus, halted with their mules

And horses, that the beasts might drink the stream;

For twilight now was creeping o’er the earth.

The herald looked, and saw that Mercury

Was near, and thus, addressing Priam, said:⁠—

“Be on thy guard, O son of Dardanus,

For here is cause for wariness. I see

A warrior, and I think he seeks our lives.

Now let us urge our steeds and fly, or else

Descend and clasp his knees, and sue for grace.”

He spake, and greatly was the aged king

Bewildered by his words; with hair erect

He stood, and motionless, while Mercury

Drew near, and took the old man’s hand, and asked:⁠—

“Whither, O father, guidest thou thy mules

And steeds in the dim night, while others sleep?

Fearest thou nothing from the warlike Greeks,

Thy foes, who hate thee, and are near at hand?

Should one of them behold thee bearing off

These treasures in the swiftly darkening night,

What wouldst thou do? Thou art not young, and he

Who comes with thee is old; ye could not make

Defence against the foe. Fear nought from me,

And I will save thee, since thou art so like

To my own father, from all other harm.”

Priam, the godlike ancient, answered thus:

“Thou sayest true, dear son; but sure some god

Holds over me his kind, protecting hand,

Who sends a guide like thee to join me here,

So noble art thou both in form and air,

And gracious are thy thoughts, and blessed they

Who gave thee birth.” With that the messenger,

The Argus-queller, spake again, and said:

“Most wisely hast thou spoken, aged man.

But tell, and truly, why thou bearest hence

This store of treasures among stranger men?

Is it that they may be preserved for thee?

Or are ye all deserting in alarm

Your hallowed Troy? for such a man of might

Was thy brave son who died, that I may say

The Greeks in battle had no braver man.”

And Priam, godlike ancient, spake in turn:

“Who then art thou, and of what parents born,

Excellent youth, who dost in such kind words

Speak of the death of my unhappy son?”

The herald, Argus-queller, answered him:

“I see that thou wouldst prove me, aged man,

By questions touching Hector, whom I oft

Have seen with mine own eyes in glorious fight,

Putting the Greeks to rout and slaying them

By their swift ships with that sharp spear of his.

We stood and marvelled, for Achilles, wroth

With Agamemnon, would not suffer us

To join the combat. I attend on him;

The same good galley brought us to this shore,

And I am one among his Myrmidons.

Polyctor is my father, who is rich,

And now as old as thou. Six are his sons

Beside me, I the seventh. In casting lots

With them, it fell to me that I should come

To Ilium with Achilles. I am here

In coming from the fleet, for with the dawn

The dark-eyed Greeks are planning to renew

The war around the city. They have grown

Impatient of long idleness; their chiefs

Seek vainly to restrain their warlike rage.”

Then spake the godlike ancient, Priam, thus:

“If thou indeed dost serve Pelides, tell,

And truly tell me, whether yet my son

Is at the fleet, or has Achilles cast,

Torn limb from limb, his body to the hounds?”

The herald, Argus-queller, thus replied:

“O aged monarch, neither have the hounds

Devoured thy son, nor yet the birds of prey;

But near the galleys of Achilles still

He lies neglected and among the tents.

Twelve mornings have beheld him lying there,

Nor hath corruption touched him, nor the worms

That make the slain their feast begun to feed.

’Tis true that, when the holy morning dawns

Achilles drags him fiercely round the tomb

Of his dear friend; yet that disfigures not

The dead. Shouldst thou approach him, thou wouldst see

With marvelling eyes how fresh and dewy still

The body lies, the blood all cleansed away,

Unsoiled in every part, and all the wounds

Closed up wherever made; for many a spear

Was thrust into his sides. Thus tenderly

The blessed gods regard thy son, though dead,

For dearly was he loved by them in life.”

He spake; the aged man was comforted,

And said: “ ’Tis meet, O son, that we should pay

Oblations to the immortals; for my son

While yet alive neglected not within

His palace the due worship of the gods

Who dwell upon Olympus; therefore they

Are mindful of him, even after death.

Take this magnificent goblet; be my guard,

And guide me, by the favor of the gods,

Until I reach Pelides in his tent.”

Again the herald, Argus-queller, spake:

“Thou seekest yet to try me, aged man,

Who younger am than thou. Yet think thou not

That I, without the knowledge of my chief,

Will take thy gifts; for in my heart I fear

Achilles, nor would wrong him in the least,

Lest evil come upon me. Yet I go

Willingly with thee, as thy faithful guide.

Were it as far as Argos the renowned,

In a swift galley, or on foot by land,

Yet none would dare to harm thee while with me.”

So Hermes spake, and leaped into the car,

And took into his hands the lash and reins,

And breathed into the horses and the mules

Fresh vigor. Coming to the wall and trench

About the ships, they found the guard engaged

With their night-meal. The herald Argicide

Poured sleep upon them all, and quickly flung

The gates apart, and pushed aside the bars,

And led in Priam, with the costly gifts

Heaped on the car. They went until they reached

The lofty tent in which Achilles sat,

Reared by the Myrmidons to lodge their king,

With timbers of hewn fir, and over-roofed

With thatch, for which the meadows had been mown,

And fenced for safety round with rows of stakes.

One fir-tree bar made fast its gate, which three

Strong Greeks were wont to raise aloft, and three

Were needed to take down the massive beam.

Achilles wielded the vast weight alone;

Beneficent Hermes opened it before

The aged man, and brought the treasures in,

Designed for swift Achilles. Then he left

The car and stood upon the ground, and said:⁠—

“O aged monarch, I am Mercury,

An ever-living god; my father, Jove,

Bade me attend thy journey. I shall now

Return, nor must Achilles look on me;

It is not meet that an immortal god

Should openly befriend a mortal man.

Enter, approach Pelides, clasp his knees;

Entreat him by his father, and his son,

And fair-haired mother; so shall he be moved.”

Thus having spoken, Hermes took his way

Back to the Olympian summit. Priam then

Sprang from the chariot to the ground. He left

Idaeus there to guard the steeds and mules,

And, hastening to the tent where, dear to Jove,

Achilles lodged, he found the chief within,

While his companions sat apart, save two⁠—

Automedon the brave, and Alcimus,

Who claimed descent from Mars. These stood near by,

And ministered to Peleus’ son, who then

Was closing a repast, and had just left

The food and wine, and still the table stood.

Unmarked the royal Priam entered in,

And, coming to Achilles, clasped his knees,

And kissed those fearful slaughter-dealing hands,

By which so many of his sons had died.

And as, when some blood-guilty man, whose hand

In his own land has slain a fellow-man,

Flees to another country, and the abode

Of some great chieftain, all men look on him

Astonished⁠—so, when godlike Priam first

Was seen, Achilles was amazed, and all

Looked on each other, wondering at the sight.

And thus King Priam supplicating spake:⁠—

“Think of thy father, an old man like me,

Godlike Achilles! On the dreary verge

Of closing life he stands, and even now

Haply is fiercely pressed by those who dwell

Around him, and has none to shield his age

From war and its disasters. Yet his heart

Rejoices when he hears thou yet dost live,

And every day he hopes that his dear son

Will come again from Troy. My lot is hard,

For I was father of the bravest sons

In all wide Troy, and none are left me now.

Fifty were with me when the men of Greece

Arrived upon our coast; nineteen of these

Owned the same mother, and the rest were born

Within my palaces. Remorseless Mars

Already had laid lifeless most of these,

And Hector, whom I cherished most, whose arm

Defended both our city and ourselves,

Him didst thou lately slay while combating

For his dear country. For his sake I come

To the Greek fleet, and to redeem his corse

I bring uncounted ransom. O, revere

The gods, Achilles, and be merciful,

Calling to mind thy father! Happier he

Than I; for I have borne what no man else

That dwells on earth could bear⁠—have laid my lips

Upon the hand of him who slew my son.”

He spake: Achilles sorrowfully thought

Of his own father. By the hand he took

The suppliant, and with gentle force removed

The old man from him. Both in memory

Of those they loved were weeping. The old king,

With many tears, and rolling in the dust

Before Achilles, mourned his gallant son.

Achilles sorrowed for his father’s sake,

And then bewailed Patroclus, and the sound

Of lamentation filled the tent. At last

Achilles, when he felt his heart relieved

By tears, and that strong grief had spent its force,

Sprang from his seat; then lifting by the hand

The aged man, and pitying his white head

And his white chin, he spake these wingèd words:⁠—

“Great have thy sufferings been, unhappy king!

How couldst thou venture to approach alone

The Grecian fleet, and show thyself to him

Who slew so many of thy valiant sons?

An iron heart is thine. But seat thyself,

And let us, though afflicted grievously,

Allow our woes to sleep awhile, for grief

Indulged can bring no good. The gods ordain

The lot of man to suffer, while themselves

Are free from care. Beside Jove’s threshold stand

Two casks of gifts for man. One cask contains

The evil, one the good, and he to whom

The Thunderer gives them mingled sometimes falls

Into misfortune, and is sometimes crowned

With blessings. But the man to whom he gives

The evil only stands a mark exposed

To wrong, and, chased by grim calamity,

Wanders the teeming earth, alike unloved

By gods and men. So did the gods bestow

Munificent gifts on Peleus from his birth,

For eminent was he among mankind

For wealth and plenty; o’er the Myrmidons

He ruled, and, though a mortal, he was given

A goddess for a wife. Yet did the gods

Add evil to the good, for not to him

Was born a family of kingly sons

Within his house, successors to his reign.

One short-lived son is his, nor am I there

To cherish him in his old age; but here

Do I remain, far from my native land,

In Troy, and causing grief to thee and thine.

Of thee too, aged king, they speak, as one

Whose wealth was large in former days, when all

That Lesbos, seat of Macar, owns was thine,

And all in Phrygia and the shores that bound

The Hellespont; men said thou didst excel

All others in thy riches and thy sons.

But since the gods have brought this strife on thee

War and perpetual slaughter of brave men

Are round thy city. Yet be firm of heart,

Nor grieve forever. Sorrow for thy son

Will profit nought; it cannot bring the dead

To life again, and while thou dost afflict

Thyself for him fresh woes may fall on thee.”

And thus the godlike Priam, aged king,

Made answer: “Bid me not be seated here,

Nursling of Jove, while Hector lies among

Thy tents unburied. Let me ransom him

At once, that I may look on him once more

With my own eyes. Receive the many gifts

We bring thee, and mayst thou possess them long,

And reach thy native shore, since by thy grace

I live and yet behold the light of day.”

Achilles heard, and, frowning, thus rejoined:

“Anger me not, old man; ’twas in my thought

To let thee ransom Hector. To my tent

The mother came who bore me, sent from Jove,

The daughter of the Ancient of the Sea,

And I perceive, nor can it be concealed,

O Priam, that some god hath guided thee

To our swift galleys; for no mortal man,

Though in his prime of youthful strength, would dare

To come into the camp; he could not pass

The guard, nor move the beams that bar our gates.

So then remind me of my griefs no more,

Lest, suppliant as thou art, I leave thee not

Unharmed, and thus transgress the laws of Jove.”

He spake: the aged man in fear obeyed.

And then Pelides like a lion leaped

Forth from the door, yet not alone he went;

For of his comrades two⁠—Automedon,

The hero, and his comrade Alcimus,

He whom Achilles held in most esteem

After the slain Patroclus⁠—followed him.

The mules and horses they unyoked, and led

The aged monarch’s clear-voiced herald in,

And bade him sit. Then from the polished car

They took the costly ransom of the corse

Of Hector, save two cloaks, which back they laid

With a fair tunic, that their chief might give

The body shrouded to be borne to Troy.

And then he called the maidens, bidding them

Wash and anoint the dead, yet far apart

From Priam, lest, with looking on his son,

The grief within his heart might rise uncurbed

To anger, and Achilles in his rage

Might stay him and transgress the laws of Jove.

And when the handmaids finished, having washed

The body and anointed it with oil,

And wrapped a sumptuous cloak and tunic round

The limbs, Achilles lifted it himself

And placed it on a bier. His comrades gave

Their aid, and raised it to the polished car.

When all was done, Achilles groaned, and called

By name the friend he dearly loved, and said:⁠—

“O my Patroclus, be not wroth with me

Shouldst thou in Hades hear that I restore

Hector to his dear father, since I take

A ransom not unworthy; but of this

I yield to thee the portion justly thine.”

So spake the godlike warrior, and withdrew

Into his tent, and took the princely seat

From which he had arisen, opposite

To that of Priam, whom he thus bespake:⁠—

“Behold thy son is ransomed, aged man,

As thou hast asked, and lies upon his bier.

Thou shalt behold him with the early dawn,

And bear him hence. Now let us break our fast,

For even Niobe, the golden-haired,

Refrained not from her food, though children twelve

Perished within her palace⁠—six young sons

And six fair daughters. Phoebus slew the sons

With arrows from his silver bow, incensed

At Niobe, while Dian, archer queen,

Struck down the daughters; for the mother dared

To make herself the peer of rosy-cheeked

Latona, who, she boastfully proclaimed,

Had borne two children only, while herself

Had brought forth many. Yet, though only two,

The children of Latona took the lives

Of all her own. Nine days the corses lay

In blood, and there was none to bury them,

For Jove had changed the dwellers of the place

To stone; but on the tenth the gods of heaven

Gave burial to the dead. Yet Niobe,

Though spent with weeping long, did not refrain

From food. And now forever mid the rocks

And desert hills of Sipylus, where lie,

Fame says, the couches of the goddess-nymphs,

Who lead the dance where Acheloüs flows,

Although she be transformed to stone, she broods

Over the woes inflicted by the gods.

But now, O noble Ancient, let us sit

At our repast, and thou mayst afterward

Mourn thy beloved son, while bearing him

Homeward, to be bewailed with many tears.”

Achilles, the swift-footed, spake, and left

His seat, and, slaying a white sheep, he bade

His comrades flay and dress it. Then they carved

The flesh in portions which they fixed on spits,

And roasted carefully, and drew them back.

And then Automedon distributed

The bread in shapely canisters around

The table, while Achilles served the flesh,

And all put forth their hands and shared the feast.

But when their thirst and hunger were appeased,

Dardanian Priam fixed a wondering look

Upon Achilles, who in nobleness

Of form was like the gods. Achilles fixed

A look of equal wonder on his guest,

Dardanian Priam, for he much admired

His gracious aspect and his pleasant speech.

And when at length they both withdrew their gaze,

Priam, the godlike Ancient, spake, and said:⁠—

“Nursling of Jove, dismiss me speedily

To rest, that we may lie, and be refreshed

With gentle slumbers. Never have these eyes

Been closed beneath their lids, since by thy hand

My Hector lost his life; and evermore

I mourn and cherish all my griefs, and writhe

Upon the ground within my palace courts;

But I have taken food at last, and drunk

Draughts of red wine, untasted till this hour.”

Achilles bade the attending men and maids

Place couches in the porch, and over them

Draw sumptuous purple mats on which to lay

Embroidered tapestries, and on each of these

Spread a broad, fleecy mantle, covering all.

Forth went the train with torches in their hands,

And quickly spread two couches. Then the swift

Achilles pleasantly to Priam said:⁠—

“Sleep, excellent old man, without the tent,

Lest some one of our counsellors arrive,

Such as oft come within my tent to sit

And talk of warlike matters. Seeing thee

In the dark hours of night, he might relate

The tale to Agamemnon, king of men,

And hinder thus the ransom of thy son.

But say, and truly say, how many days

Requirest thou to pay the funeral rites

To noble Hector, so that I may rest

As many, and restrain the troops from war.”

Then answered godlike Priam, aged king:

“Since, then, thou wilt, Achilles, that we pay

The rites of burial to my noble son,

I own the favor. Well thou knowest how

We Trojans are constrained to keep within

The city walls, for it is far to bring

Wood from the mountains, and we fear to dare

The journey. Nine days would we mourn the dead

Within our dwellings, and upon the tenth

Would bury him, and make a solemn feast,

And the next day would rear his monument,

And on the twelfth, if needful, fight again.”

And swift Achilles, godlike chief, rejoined:

“Be it, O reverend Priam, as thou wilt,

And for that space will I delay the war.”

He spake, and that the aged king might feel

No fear, he grasped his right hand at the wrist;

And then King Priam and the herald went

To sleep within the porch, but wary still.

Achilles slumbered in his stately tent,

The rosy-cheeked Briseis at his side,

And all the other gods and men who fought

In chariots gave themselves to slumber, save

Beneficent Hermes; sleep came not to him,

For still he meditated how to bring

King Priam back from the Achaian fleet

Unnoticed by the watchers at the gate.

So at the monarch’s head he stood, and spake:⁠—

“O aged king, thou givest little heed

To danger, sleeping thus amid thy foes,

Because Achilles spares thee. Thou hast paid

Large ransom for thy well-beloved son,

And yet the sons whom thou hast left in Troy

Would pay three times that ransom for thy life,

Should Agamemnon, son of Atreus, learn⁠—

Or any of the Greeks⁠—that thou art here.”

He spake: the aged king in fear awaked

The herald. Hermes yoked the steeds and mules,

And drave them quickly through the camp unmarked

By any there. But when they reached the ford

Where Xanthus, progeny of Jupiter,

Rolls the smooth eddies of his stream, the god

Deputed for the Olympian height, and Morn

In saffron robes o’erspread the Earth with light.

Townward they urged the steeds, and as they went

Sorrowed and wailed: the mules conveyed the dead,

And they were seen by none of all the men

And graceful dames of Troy save one alone.

Cassandra, beautiful as Venus, stood

On Pergamus, and from its height discerned

Her wither, standing on the chariot-seat,

And knew the herald, him whose voice so oft

Summoned the citizens, and knew the dead

Stretched on a litter drawn by mules. She raised

Her voice, and called to all the city thus:⁠—

“O Trojan men and women, hasten forth

To look on Hector, if ye e’er rejoiced

To see him coming from the field alive,

The pride of Troy, and all who dwell in her.”

She spake, and suddenly was neither man

Nor woman left within the city bounds.

Deep grief was on them all; they went to meet,

Near to the gates, the monarch bringing home

The dead. And first the wife whom Hector loved

Rushed with his reverend mother to the car

As it rolled on, and, plucking out their hair,

Touched with their hands the forehead of the dead,

While round it pressed the multitude, and wept,

And would have wept before the gates all day,

Even to the set of sun, in bitter grief

For Hector’s loss, had not the aged man

Addressed the people from his chariot-seat:

“Give place to me, and let the mules pass on,

And ye may weep your fill when once the dead

Is laid within the palace.” As he spake,

The throng gave way and let the chariot pass;

And having brought it to the royal halls,

On a fair couch they laid the corse, and placed

Singers beside it, leaders of the dirge,

Who sang a sorrowful, lamenting strain,

And all the women answered it with sobs.

White-armed Andromache in both her hands

Took warlike Hector’s head, and over it

Began the lamentation midst them all:⁠—

“Thou hast died young, my husband, leaving me

In this thy home a widow, and one son,

An infant yet. To an unhappy pair

He owes his birth, and never will, I fear,

Bloom into youth; for ere that day will Troy

Be overthrown, since thou, its chief defence,

Art dead, the guardian of its walls and all

Its noble matrons and its speechless babes,

Yet to be carried captive far away,

And I among them, in the hollow barques;

And thou, my son, wilt either go with me,

Where thou shalt toil at menial tasks for some

Pitiless master; or perhaps some Greek

Will seize thy little arm, and in his rage

Will hurl thee from a tower and dash thee dead,

Remembering how thy lather, Hector, slew

His brother, son, or father; for the hand

Of Hector forced full many a Greek to bite

The dust of earth. Not slow to smite was he

In the fierce conflict; therefore all who dwell

Within the city sorrow for his fall.

Thou bringest an unutterable grief,

O Hector, on thy parents, and on me

The sharpest sorrows. Thou didst not stretch forth

Thy hands to me, in dying, from thy couch,

Nor speak a word to comfort me, which I

Might ever think of night and day with tears.”

So spake the weeping wife: the women all

Mingled their wail with hers, and Hecuba

Took up the passionate lamentation next:⁠—

“O Hector, thou who wert most fondly loved

Of all my sons! While yet thou wert alive,

Dear wert thou to the gods, who even now,

When death has overtaken thee, bestow

Such care upon thee. All my other sons

Whom swift Achilles took in war he sold

At Samos, Imbrus, by the barren sea,

And Lemnos harborless. But as for thee,

When he had taken with his cruel spear

Thy life, he dragged thee round and round the tomb

Of his young friend, Patroclus, whom thy hand

Had slain, yet raised he not by this the dead;

And now thou liest in the palace here,

Fresh and besprinkled as with early dew,

Like one just slain with silent arrows aimed

By Phoebus, bearer of the silver bow.”

Weeping she spake, and woke in all who heard

Grief without measure. Helen, last of all,

Took up the lamentation, and began:⁠—

“O Hector, who wert dearest to my heart

Of all my husband’s brothers⁠—for the wife

Am I of godlike Paris, him whose fleet

Brought me to Troy⁠—would I had sooner died.’

And now the twentieth year is past since first

I came a stranger from my native shore,

Yet have I never heard from thee a word

Of anger or reproach. And when the sons

Of Priam, and his daughters, and the wives

Of Priam’s sons, in all their fair array,

Taunted me grievously, or Hecuba

Herself⁠—for Priam ever was to me

A gracious father⁠—thou didst take my part

With kindly admonitions, and restrain

Their tongues with soft address and gentle words.

Therefore my heart is grieved, and I bewail

Thee and myself at once⁠—unhappy me!

For now I have no friend in all wide Troy⁠—

None to be kind to me: they hate me all.”

Weeping she spake: the mighty throng again

Answered with wailing. Priam then addressed

The people: “Now bring wood, ye men of Troy,

Into the city. Let there be no fear

Of ambush from the Greeks, for when of late

I left Achilles at the dark-hulled barques,

He gave his promise to molest no more

The men of Troy till the twelfth morn shall rise.”

He spake, and speedily they yoked the mules

And oxen to the wains, and came in throngs

Before the city walls. Nine days they toiled

To bring the trunks of trees, and when the tenth

Arose to light the abodes of men, they brought

The corse of valiant Hector from the town

With many tears, and laid it on the wood

High up, and flung the fire to light the pile.

Now when the early rosy-fingered Dawn

Looked forth, the people gathered round the pile

Of glorious Hector. When they all had come

Together, first they quenched the funeral fires,

Wherever they had spread, with dark-red wine,

And then his brothers and companions searched

For the white bones. In sorrow and in tears,

That streaming stained their cheeks, they gathered them,

And placed them in a golden um. O’er this

They drew a covering of soft purple robes,

And laid it in a hollow grave, and piled

Fragments of rock above it, many and huge.

In haste they reared the tomb, with sentries set

On every side, lest all too soon the Greeks

Should come in armor to renew the war.

When now the tomb was built, the multitude

Returned, and in the halls where Priam dwelt

Nursling of Jove, were feasted royally.

Such was the mighty Hector’s burial rite.