Book XXIV

SO was the throng dispersed, and the warfolk scattered wide
To their ships: there were some took thought for the meat of the eventide
And refreshing of slumber sweet: but aye did Achilles weep
As he thought on his dear-loved friend, nor did all-subduing sleep
Lay hold upon him, but ever to this side and that side he tossed
As he yearned for the manhood and gallant might of Patroclus the lost,
And the brave deeds wrought, the afflictions endured, as together they clave
The surges of battle, or breasted the troublous-tossing wave.
As he called all this to remembrance his tears fell down like rain,
As he lay one while on his side, and otherwhile again
On his back, and anon on his face; and then to his feet did he rise
And wandered distraught by the strand of the sea, nor unmarked of his eyes
Was the Dawn, as over the sea and his beaches she shone afar;
But when now and again he had yoked his fleetfoot steeds to the car,
Then Hector behind the chariot-seat for the haling he bound,
And he dragged him thrice round dead Menoitiades’ grave-mound,
And again in his tent would he rest: but for Hector, he hurled him to lie
Outstretched on his face in the dust: but Apollo was ever thereby
From foul scathe shielding his flesh; for he looked with compassionate eye
On the hero, dead though he was; and with golden aegis he veiled
His corse all round, that Achilles might rend him not as he haled.
Even so in his fury to Hector the godlike he did despite.
But the bliss-throned Gods had pity of him, which beheld that sight;
And they cried on the Argus-slayer to steal him, the Watcher keen:
And the thing pleased all the rest, but never Héré the Queen,
Neither the Maid of the Flashing Eyes, nor the Sea-depths’ Lord;
But they were as when Ilium the holy at first of their souls was abhorred,
And Priam and Priam’s people, for Alexander’s sin,
Who contemned the Goddesses twain when they stood his steading within,
And commended her which gave him his lust’s desire to win.
But at last when the twelfth dawn after the slaying of Hector broke,
Then in the midst of the Deathless Phoebus Apollo spoke:
“Cruel ye are, O Gods, destroyers!—did Hector ne’er
Burn you the thighs of oxen and goats most perfect-fair?
Him now do ye nowise deign to deliver, a corpse though he be,
To the end that his wife and his mother and child their belovéd may see,
And Priam his sire, and the people: his corse would they speedily lay
On the pyre for the flame to consume, and the death-rites due would they pay.
But Achilles the fell, ye Gods, are ye fain to help and defend,
Who hath neither a righteous heart nor a purpose framed to bend
In his breast: like a lion he is that on fierce wild thoughts doth brood,
When the spoiler, upstirred by his mighty strength and his aweless mood,
Goeth forth on the flocks of men to win him a banquet of blood,
Even so hath Achilles slain all pity: in him no shame
Is born—sooth, manifold blessing and bane have men of the same:—
Yea, I ween it shall hap to a man to lose yet a dearer one,
As a brother born of the selfsame mother, or even a son;
Yet, when he hath poured out wailing and tears, he refraineth him then,
For a spirit strong to endure have the Fates bestowed upon men.
But he, though his vengeance the life of Hector the godlike hath ta’en,
To his chariot hath bound him, and round the tomb of his dear friend slain
He draggeth him: little profit or praise shall it win him, I wis!
Let him fear, be he never so mighty, our indignation for this,
For behold, in his fury he doeth despite to the senseless clay.”
But in wrath unto him did Héré the ivory-wristed say:
“Yea, even this word of thine, O Silverbow, should be true,
If Achilles and Hector had equal honour, ye Gods, of you.
But for Hector, a mortal he is; at a woman’s breast did he lie:
But Achilles sprang from the womb of a Goddess whom I, even I,
Fostered and nursed, and gave her to be a mortal’s bride,
Unto Peleus, the man most dear unto them that for ever abide.
Ye Gods all came to the bridal, and thou cam’st even as they
With thy lyre to the feast, thou companion of sinners, faithless aye!”
Then Zeus the Cloudrack-gatherer answered to her, and spake:
“Héré, against the Gods into anger thou shalt not break:
For the twain shall not have honour alike: yet dearest of all
To the Gods was Hector, of them that dwelt within Ilium’s wall,
Yea, also to me, for in gifts wherein my soul doth delight
Never he failed; and aye on mine altar the banquet was dight
With libation and sacrifice-steam, for our honour is this and our right.
Yet will we none of the stealing of Hector the valiant away:
Unawares to Achilles it may not be compassed, for night and day
Goeth his mother beside her son continually.
But I would some God would summon hitherward Thetis to me,
For a word of weight would I speak unto her, that Achilles so
May from Priam receive due gifts, and for these let Hector go.”
So spake he, and storm-footed Iris arose that message to bear,
And amidst of the space ’twixt Samos and Imbros’ crags, even there
Into the dark sea leapt: sighed closing above her the mere.
Like a plummet of lead to abysses unfathomed she plunged down sheer,
Like the plummet that, riding the horn of an ox that hath roamed the lea,
Descendeth with death to the ravenous fosterlings of the sea.
And Thetis she found in a hollow grot, and on this side and that
Thronged were the Maids of the Sea, and herself in the midst of them sat
Wailing the doom of her peerless son, for she knew it full nigh,
That in fruitful Troy, far off from his fatherland-home, he should die.
Then to her side came Iris the Fleetfoot, and thus spake she:
“Rise, Thetis: the Lord of Unperishing Counsels calleth for thee.”
And Thetis the Goddess, the Silver-footed, made reply:
“Why summoneth me that mighty God?—ashamed am I
With the Deathless to mingle, who bear in mine heart an unending pain.
I will go, for the word that proceedeth from him shall not be vain.”
So did she speak, and a veil she took, that Goddess-queen,
Dark-hued, yea, vesture blacker than that no eye hath seen.
And she turned her to go, and before her windfoot Iris the fleet
Led on, and the surge of the sea was cloven before their feet.
So they went up the strand, and darting up to the heaven they soared;
And Kronos’ Son far-seeing they found, and around their lord
In a throng sat all the blessed Gods that for ever abide;
And Athéné gave her place, and she sat by Allfather’s side.
And Héré gave to her hand a glorious golden cup
With words of cheer; and Thetis tasted, and yielded it up.
And the Father of Gods and Men spake forth in their midst the word:
“Thou hast come to Olympus, O Thetis, albeit sorrow-stirred
With a grief that thou canst not forget in thine heart: I know it full well.
Notwithstanding, for what cause hither I called thee, now will I tell.
For nine days’ space a strife of the Deathless hath clashed in mine halls
Touching Hector’s corse, and Achilles the razer of fortress-walls.
And they bade the keen-eyed slayer of Argus to steal the dead.
But I will that the glory of this shall abide on Achilles’ head,
Having respect to thy worship and friendship for days to be.
Now haste to the host, and speak to thy son this word from me:
Thou tell him, the Gods are angry, and I, above all the rest
Of the Deathless, am wroth, because that with fury-frenzied breast
By his beakéd galleys he holdeth Hector, and will not release;
If perchance he will fear me, and send the body thence in peace.
And Iris shall bear mine hest unto Priam the great-heart king
To go to Achaia’s ships for his dear son’s ransoming,
And gifts to Achilles, such as shall gladden his heart, shall he bring.”
Then Thetis the Goddess, the Silver-footed, obeyed his behest;
And she turned her to go, and she darted adown from Olympus’ crest,
And she came to the tent of her son, and there that hero she found
Groaning in vehement wise, and his loving comrades around
Busied them swiftly the while, making ready the meal of the morn:
In the tent lay a great sheep slain, of shaggy fleece unshorn.
Then sat the Lady his mother beside him, exceeding near,
And with kind love-lingering touch did she soothe him, and spake in his ear:
“My child, how long lamenting sore and grief-distraught
Wilt thou eat thine heart away, and of food wilt take no thought,
Nor yet of the couch?—It were good in the loving embrace to lie
Of woman: not long shall I see thee in life, but now full nigh
Beside thee is standing Death and the overmastering Doom.
Give heed unto me; from Zeus unto thee with a message I come.
He saith that the Gods are angry, and he, above all the rest
Of the Deathless, is wroth, because that with fury-frenzied breast
By the beakéd galleys thou keepest Hector, releasing him not.
Then yield thou up the corse when the ransom thereof shall be brought.”
Then unto her made answer Achilles the fleetfoot, and said:
“So be it: who bringeth the ransom, let him bear hence the dead,
If indeed with purpose of heart this word the Olympian hath said.”
In such wise mother and son mid the gathered host of the ships
Communed together, and many a winged word leapt from their lips.
But Kronos’ seed sped Iris to sacred Ilium-town:
“Haste, Iris the swift, from the home of Olympus darting adown,
Unto Ilium bear mine hest, unto Priam the great-heart king,
To go to Achaia’s ships for his dear son’s ransoming;
And gifts to Achilles, such as shall gladden his heart, shall he bring;
Alone, none other man of the Trojans may fare at his side.
Let there follow him only a herald stricken in years, which shall guide
The mules and the wain smooth-running, and bring moreover again
To the city the body of him whom Achilles the godlike hath slain.
And let not death overshadow his soul, neither any dismay;
Such a guide, the slayer of Argus, to him will we give for the way
Who shall lead him, until to Achilles he set him nigh at hand.
And it shall be, that when in the hero’s pavilion his feet shall stand,
Himself shall in no wise slay him, nor suffer another to smite,
For that senseless he is not, nor heedless, as some sin-hardened wight.
Nay, he will spare, and grace shall the suppliant find in his sight.”
So spake he, and Iris the Wind-foot bearing the message is gone.
And she came unto Priam’s palace, and found there crying and moan
In the court; and around their father bedewing their raiment with tears
His sons sat: there in their midst was the old man stricken in years,
In his mantle closely shrouded about: on his head hoar-grey
And all adown his neck much litter of oxen lay,
Which his hands had gathered the while he grovelled low on the ground.
And with wail of his daughters and wives of his sons the halls rang round,
As they thought upon those, the many and valiant, that low in the dust
Lay, whom the Argive hands through the gates of the grave had thrust.
Then stood by Priam the messenger sent from Zeus, and she spake
With voice low-murmuring: then did his limbs with trembling quake:
“Be of good cheer, O Dardanid Priam, and fear not thou;
For not with foreboding of evil am I come unto thee now,
But with kindly intent: the messenger am I of Zeus unto thee,
Who careth for thee with exceeding compassion, afar though he be.
To ransom thine Hector the Lord of Olympus biddeth thee fare,
And gifts to Achilles, such as shall gladden his heart, shalt thou bear;
Alone, none other man of the Trojans may fare at thy side:
Let there follow thee only a herald stricken in years, who shall guide
The mules and the wain smooth-running, and bring moreover again
To the city the body of him whom Achilles the godlike hath slain.
And let not death overshadow thy soul, neither any dismay;
Such a guide, the Slayer of Argus, to thee will we give for the way,
Who shall lead thee until to Achilles he set thee nigh at hand.
And it shall be, that when in the hero’s pavilion thy feet shall stand,
Himself shall in no wise slay thee, nor suffer another to smite,
For that senseless he is not, nor heedless, as some sin-hardened wight;
Nay, he will spare, and grace shall the suppliant find in his sight.”
Even so spake fleetfoot Iris, and lo, she was no more there.
But the old man spake to his sons the light-running wain to prepare,
Mule-drawn, and to bind the basket of wicker-work thereon.
But himself down into his chamber odorous-sweet hath gone,
High-raftered with cedar, wherein full many a jewel was stored;
And he called his wife unto him, and to Hekabé spake the word:
“Lady, from Zeus in Olympus to me hath a messenger sped
Bidding me go to the ships to ransom my dear son dead,
And to bear with me gifts which shall gladden the heart of Achilles the king.
Now tell me the thought of thine heart, how seemeth to thee this thing?
For my mind and my spirit commandeth, and yearneth unsatisfied
Till I go to the galleys begirt by Achaia’s war-host wide.”
So did he speak; but shrieked his wife, and she made reply:
“Ah me, whither fled is thy wisdom, wherein in the days gone by
Thy renown amid alien men and the folk that thou rulest was known?
How canst thou desire to fare to the galleys Achaian alone
To the sight of a man who hath laid full many and valiant low,
All sons of thine?—of iron thine heart must be fashioned, I trow.
For if with his hands he shall grasp thee, for if with his eyes he shall see,
That ravin-ruthless and faithless man, he will pity not thee,
Neither hold thee in any respect:—now nay, but aloof weep we
As we sit in our halls. Ay, this did the overmastering doom
Spin with the threads of his birth when I bare him the son of my womb,
To glut swift-footed hounds, from his parents far apart,
In the power of a violent man—would God that I had but his heart
To grip it and rend with my teeth: then haply might vengeance be won
For my child, since in no wise playing the dastard slain was my son,
But defending the sons and the deep-bosomed daughters of Troy he stood,
No shadow of fear on his soul, no doubt in his blenchless mood.”
Then unto her did the old man Priam the godlike say:
“Hold me not back, who am minded to go, nor become this day
In mine halls as a bird ill-boding: my purpose thou shalt not sway.
For if any of earth-born men had commanded me after this wise,
Whether of prophets, or priests that divine by sacrifice,
We had held us afar therefrom, and had deemed it a vision of lies,
But now—for myself have heard a Goddess, and seen with mine eyes—
I will go, neither vain shall her word be, and if my doom be said
To die, by the ships of the Argives brazen-corsleted,
I consent: straightway let Achilles slay me, when once I have thrown
Round Hector mine arms, and assuaged mine hunger for mourning and moan.”
He spake, and the fair-wrought lids of the coffers uplifted he:
Therefrom did he take twelve shawls exceeding fair to see,
Twelve cloaks of single fold, and carpets two and ten,
And goodly mantles as many, and twelve fair tunics of men.
And he weighed ten talents of gold, and he bare from his treasure-store,
Forth brought he flame-bright tripods twain, and caldrons four:
And a chalice that Thracians had given, a great possession and fair,
When he went on an ambassage: not even this did the old man spare
In his halls as he stood, for he longed in his spirit exceeding sore
To ransom his dear-loved son: and he drave from his corridor
The Trojans; and wild from his lips ’gan the flood of reviling to pour:
“Begone, ye pests, ye reproaches! What, have ye nowise at home
Mourning enow of your own, that hither to vex me ye come?
Do ye count it as naught that Zeus hath heaped on me woe upon woe,
To lose that noblest child?—but ye, ye also shall know.
For lighter, far lighter, the toil for the host of Achaia shall be,
Now that mine Hector is dead, to destroy you: but as for me,
Or ever the horror of havoc and wrack in Ilium-town
Be seen of mine eyes, may I pass to the mansion of Hades adown.”
He spake, and he scattered the men with his staff, and in haste did they fly
From the face of that vehement sire: then loud to his sons did he cry.
Then did his chiding on Helenus, Paris, and Agathon fall,
On Antiphonus, Pammon, and battle-helper Polites withal.
On Deiphobus then, and Hippothoüs, cried he, on Dius the proud.
Unto all these nine that ancient shouted his hest aloud:
“Hasten, I tell ye, base children, my shames!—would God in the stead
Of Hector by yon swift ships ye had all been laid with the dead!
Ah me all-wretched!—in all wide Troy the goodliest sons
I begat: not one is there left to me now of my glorious ones!
Méstor the godlike, and Troilus’ chariot-chivalry,
And Hector—a god among men was my son, for he seemed not, he,
The child of a mortal man, but as one that of God’s seed came.
These Arés destroyed: there abide with me naught but sons of shame,
Liars of light heels, champions they of the dancing-floor;
Thieves, that for lambs and for kidlings grind the face of the poor!
Will ye heed not your father, to harness the wain with speed, and to lay
All these things thereupon, to the end we may forth on our way?”
So spake he, and shrinking adread from their father’s chiding, they brought
Forth of its place the smooth-running wain of the mules, new-wrought,
Goodly to see, and the basket of wicker bound they above:
And the yoke of the mule-team took they adown from the peg thereof;
’Twas of boxwood, set with a boss, and with guiding-rings dight fair:
And forth with the yoke its band of cubits nine they bare,
And meetly they laid it down on the goodly-polished pole,
On the foot thereof, and the ring of it cast they over the thole;
And to right and to left of the boss three times did they overcast
The band, and they lashed it down, and the tongue thereunder they passed.
Then forth of the chamber they bare and they laid on the polished wain
The ransom-price untold for the head of Hector slain.
Then under the yoke the strong-hoofed harness-mules did they bring,
Which the Mysians had given, a goodly gift, unto Priam the King.
And under the chariot-yoke for Priam the horses they led
Which the ancient himself at the crib with his own hands tended and fed.
Even so in the stately palace the herald and Priam his lord
Were putting their beasts to the yoke, with deep hearts wisdom-stored.
But now unto these drew nigh Queen Hekabé heavy-souled
In her right hand bearing the honey-sweet wine in a chalice of gold,
To the end they might pour a libation or ever they fared on their way.
And afront of the chariot she stood, and she spake, and thus did she say:
“Take, pour unto Father Zeus: pray thou from the midst of the foe
Home to return, forasmuch as thine heart doth constrain thee to go
Unto the ships, albeit I would not have it so.
Thou then to Kronion, who sitteth in gloom of the cloud-rack, cry,
To the Dweller on Ida, beneath whose eyes all Troy doth lie.
Ask of him the eagle, the messenger swift, which he loveth best
Above all fowl of the air, and whose strength is the mightiest,
To appear on thy right, that thou thyself with thine eyes mayst behold,
And mayst go to the Danaan ships by faith therein made bold.
But if far-seeing Zeus will vouchsafe thee his messenger not for a sign,
It is not I that will speed thee by any bidding of mine
To the ships of the Argives to fare, what though thou be never so fain.”
And the old man Priam the godlike to her made answer again:
“Lady, I will not set at naught thy counsel herein.
Good is it to lift up hands unto Zeus, his compassion to win.”
Then did the ancient command the stewardess-handmaid to pour
Pure water over his hands; and the maid drew nigh, and she bore
The pitcher within her hands, and the water bright from the spring.
So when he had washen, the cup from his wife received the King.
Then prayed he, standing amidst of the court, and the wine he shed,
Looking up to the heavens the while, and he uttered his voice, and he said:
“Zeus, Father, most glorious and mighty, who rulest from Ida’s height,
Vouchsafe me to win compassion and grace in Achilles’ sight,
And send thou the eagle, the messenger swift, which thou lovest best
Of all the fowl of the air, and whose strength is the mightiest,
To appear on my right, that I myself with mine eyes may behold,
And may go to the Danaan ships, by faith therein made bold.”
So praying he spake, and the Lord of Counsel hearkened his prayer,
And he sent forth his eagle, most perfect of all the fowl of the air,
The black-winged hunter; the Dusky Erne men name it withal:
And even as wide as is fashioned the door of the high-built hall
Of a mighty man of wealth, with bolts full cunningly dight,
So wide was the spread of his shadowing wings, and lo, on their right
Over the city he darted; and they beholding him come
Were glad, and the hearts of them all gat comfort and cheer therefrom.
Then hasted the ancient King, and he stepped to the chariot-floor,
And forth he drave from the porch and the echoing corridor.
In front of him fared the mule-team dragging the four-wheeled wain
Which Idaius the wise was driving: behind were the car-steeds twain
Which the old King hastily drave, as he plied the lash amain,
Down the streets of the town, and his friends all followed, a grief-stricken crowd,
And as though to his death he were going they mourned him with wailing loud.
But when they had passed down Ilium’s streets, and were come to the plain,
Then into the city his sons and his marriage-kin again
Went back: nor of far-seeing Zeus unmarked those lone ones fared
Forth to the plain, but he pitied the old man silver-haired;
And straightway he looked on his dear son Hermes, and thus did he say:
“Hermes—for unto thee right dear is the task alway
To companion a man, and thou hearest whomso thou wilt in his need,—
Hie thee, and unto the hollow Achaian ships so lead
Priam, that none of the Danaan men may behold him, and none
May be ware of him, ere that he come to the presence of Peleus’ son.”
Then Argus-slayer, the Guide-god, rendered obedience meet.
Straightway his beautiful sandals bound he beneath his feet,
Ambrosial, golden-gleaming, which wafted him over the main
Swift as the blasts of the wind, and o’er earth’s limitless plain.
And the Wand of the Spells hath he ta’en, that lulleth to slumber deep
Whomsoever he will, and anon it breaketh the bands of sleep.
So the Argus-slayer, the strong, flew bearing the same in his hand,
And swiftly he came unto Troy and to broad-flowing Hellespont’s strand:
And arrayed in the form of a youth of the princes he passed along,
Whose chin hath the first soft down, whose life is lovely and young.
Now when they had driven by Ilus’ huge grave-mound, those twain,
On the bank of the river the mules and the chariot-team did they rein
To drink, for the gloom dropped now on the earth from the brooding sky.
Then was the herald ware of one that was drawing nigh,—
Hermes it was,—and he murmured to Priam fearfully:
“Bethink thee, O Dardanus’ son;—time is it for heedfulness now;—
I behold a man; full soon will he cut us in pieces, I trow.
Come then, let us flee away on the horses, or bow us in prayer
Clasping his knees, if perchance he will have compassion and spare.”
But the old man’s mind was confounded, and horror gat hold upon him,
And the hair of his flesh stood up upon every bending limb;
And he stood all dazed. But the Helper-god himself drew near,
And he grasped the old man’s hand, and he questioned with words of cheer:
“Whither, O father, thus the horses and mules dost thou guide
Through the hush of the balmy night, when slumber all beside?
Of thy fury-breathing Achaian foes no fear hast thou,
The ruthless men and lawless that wait so nigh to thee now?
Yet if one of these, as thou bearest the fleeting dark night through
Treasures so many, should mark—what then art thou minded to do?
Not of the youths art thou; thy companion is stricken with eld:
If a man unchallenged shall set on you, how shall his fury be quelled?
Nay then, no hurt will I do thee: myself will be shield unto thee
From all else:—like to mine own dear father thou seemest to me.”
And the old man Priam the godlike to him spake answering:
“Yea, so in a manner it is, dear son, as thou sayest the thing.
Yet even o’er me some God hath outstretched his hand this day,
Who hath sent such a wayfarer forth to meet me here in the way,
Such a bringer of blessing, so wondrous stately and comely to see;
And prudent of spirit thou art: sooth, happy thy parents must be.”
Then unto him the Slayer of Argus, the Guide-god, spake:
“Yea, answer meet and right, old sire, herein dost thou make.
But come now, tell to me this, and the truth unswerving declare:—
Art thou anywhither sending thy treasures many and fair
Unto alien men, that these at the least may remain unto thee?
Or from Ilium the hallowed now at the last do all ye flee
Fear-stricken, so mighty a hero is dead, such a champion lost,
Thy son, for never he flinched from the fight with Achaia’s host.”
Then unto him did the old man Priam the godlike say:
“Now, mightiest, who art thou, and thy parents, who be they,
Who hast named me so truly and well the doom of mine hapless son?”
Unto him made answer the Argus-slayer, the Guide spake on:
“Thou art proving me, ancient, and askest of Hector the godlike wight.
Him many a time and oft in the glory-wafting fight
With mine eyes have I seen; yea too, when the rout of Achaians he chased
To the ships, and with keen-whetted brass their war-ranks aye did he waste.
There stood we and marvelled the while, for Achilles suffered us not
To fight, forasmuch as his wrath against Atreus’ son was hot.
For his henchman I am; in the selfsame gallant ship we came.
One of the Myrmidons am I, Polyktor my father they name;
Mighty in wealth, but an old man like unto thee is he.
Six sons he had, and a seventh therewithal he begat, even me:
And we cast the lots, and it fell to me hither to fare oversea.
And now am I come from the plain to the ships, for at dawn of the day
The Achaians around the city will set the fight in array.
For they chafe to be sitting deedless: the princes Achaian no more
Avail to refrain the war-host battleward yearning sore.”
Made answer to him the old man Priam the godlike one:
“If thou art the henchman indeed of Achilles Peleus’ son,
I pray thee, let all the truth be uttered to me of thy lips.
Say: is my dear son lying yet in the midst of the ships,
Or to dogs hath Achilles cast him, a corse hewn limb from limb?”
Answered the slayer of Argus, the Guide-god spake unto him:
“Old man, not yet on his body the dogs or the vultures have fed,
But still by the ship of Achilles lieth unchanged thy dead
Amidst of the tents, and the twelfth dawn now hath beheld him laid
Lifeless on earth, and yet is the flesh of him undecayed,
Neither feast on him worms, the devourers of warriors battle-slain,
Good sooth, but Achilles ruthlessly haleth him once and again
Around his dead friend’s barrow, whenso appeareth the light;
Yet he marreth him not: thou wouldst marvel thyself, shouldst thou come on the sight,
How dewy-fresh he lieth, as washen from blood all around;
He hath nowhere any pollution, and closed is every wound
That was dealt unto him: there were many that stabbed his corse with the spear.
With care so watchful still do the bliss-throned Gods stand near
Though a corpse be thy son, for aye to their hearts was he passing dear.”
So did he speak, and the ancient rejoiced, and he answered thereto:
“O son, it is verily good to render the gifts that be due
To the Deathless, for never my son, if he e’er was a living wight,
Forgat in his halls the Gods which dwell on Olympus’ height.
Wherefore on him have they thought, though compassed he be with the bands
Of death. Now prithee receive this beautiful cup at mine hands,
And save me, and help me forth on my way, if the high Gods speed,
Until I shall come to the tent of Achilles Peleus’ seed.”
Unto him did the Argus-slayer, the Guide-god, answering say:
“Thou dost prove me, old man, who am younger than thou, but thou shalt not sway,
Who biddest me take thy gifts, when Achilles thereof knoweth naught.
Nay, him do I fear: mine heart hath shame of the very thought
Of robbing my lord, lest mischief hereafter of this should grow.
But even to Argos the famous with thee as thy guide would I go,
Kindly companioning thee in the sea-swift ship, or by land:
And no man for scorn of thine escort should lift up against thee his hand.”
Leapt on the chariot of horses the Helper-god as he spake,
And swiftly the whip and the reins in his grasp of might did he take,
And into the horses and mule-team breathed he mettle stout.
So when they were come to the towers of the ships and the trench thereabout,
Even then were the watchmen preparing their meat of the eventide;
But sleep on them all was shed of the Slayer of Argus, the Guide.
And straightway he opened the gates, and backward the bolts he shot,
And Priam and those fair gifts on the wain therethrough hath he brought.
But when to the dwelling of Peleus’ son at the last they came,
High-builded—the Myrmidon men for their king had fashioned the same,
Hewing them beams of the pine, and they thatched it overhead,
For they mowed the downy rush wherewithal was the mead overspread;
And around it they reared for their king the fence of a great court-yard
Of stakes close-set: with a single bolt was the gate of it barred,
A pine-beam: home was it thrust by the strength of Achaians three,
And to shoot that huge bolt back must three heave mightily
Of the rest:—in the giant grasp of Achilles alone would it slide.
At the touch of the Helper leading the old King back did it glide;
And for Peleus’ son those glorious gifts therewithin did he bring;
And he lighted down from the chariot to earth, and he spake to the King:
“Old man, lo, I that have hitherward come am a deathless God,
Hermes: Allfather hath sent me to speed thee upon thy road.
But now will I hie me aback: to behold me shall nowise be given
To the eyes of Achilles; for indignation should be in heaven,
If mortals should openly thus find grace with a Deathless One.
But thou, pass in, and clasp thou the knees of Peleus’ son,
And beseech thou him by his father, his mother, the lovely-tressed,
And his child, that thou mayest prevail to stir the heart in his breast.”
So when he had ended the word, to Olympus speeding afar
Hermes was gone, and Priam leapt to the earth from his car.
There left he Idaius reining the horses and mules to stay
Without; but into the dwelling the old man passed straightway
Where Achilles the Zeus-loved wont to sit; and the hero there
He found, but aloof were his comrades sitting: yet twain there were,
The hero Automedon, Alkimus, scion of Arés’ blood,
Which waited on him: he had newly ceased from taking of food,
Of meat and of drink, and yet beside him the table stood.
And Priam had entered, and stood by the hero, or ever they wist.
And he clasped in his hands the knees of Achilles, the hands he kissed,
The terrible murderous hands which had slain him many a son.
And as cometh a heavy curse on a man of whom murder was done
In his own land, now in his flight to an alien folk hath he won,
To the house of a wealthy man, and all in amaze look on;
So upon Priam the godlike Achilles stared amazed,
And amazed were the rest withal, as each on his fellow they gazed.
Then Priam made supplication to him, and his prayer he began:
“Remember thy father, Achilles, thou godlike-glorious man:
Old even as I, on the grievous threshold of eld doth he stand,
And is haply oppressed of his neighbours which dwell on every hand:
And when ruin and bane draweth nigh, he hath none to take his part.
Notwithstanding, whenso he heareth that yet alive thou art
He rejoiceth his spirit within, and day by day doth he yearn
That yet he may see his beloved son from Troyland return.
But I, I am utterly hapless, for mine were the goodliest sons
In all wide Troy, and none have I left of my glorious ones.
Fifty had I when came the Achaians bringing their doom,
And of these nineteen were born unto me of the selfsame womb;
And the others did concubines bear in mine halls; and of many of these
The furious God of Battles hath palsy-stricken the knees.
But one was there left unto me, the shield of my city and folk,
And but now, as he fought for his land, didst thou deal him the swift death-stroke,
Even Hector: for his sake now to the galleys Achaian I fare
To redeem him out of thine hand, and a ransom untold I bear.
O have thou respect to the Gods, Achilles, have pity on me,
And remember thy father:—but I am more piteous yet than he,
And have dared what none beside of earth-born mortals hath done,
To draw to my lips the hand of the man that hath slain my son.”
Then yearning to weep for his sire in Achilles was stirred at his cry,
And he touched the old man’s hand, and gently he put him by.
And these twain, calling to mind their belovéd, wept aloud,
For Hector the manslayer one, at Achilles’ feet as he bowed,
But Achilles wept for his own dear father the while, and anon
For Patroclus, and echoed and swelled through all the dwelling their moan.
But when with the feast of mourning Achilles the godlike was filled,
And the yearning for tears that had shaken his breast and his limbs was stilled,
He leapt from his seat, and the ancient he raised by the hand straightway
Compassionating his hoar-grey head and his beard hoar-grey;
And he lifted his voice unto him, and the light-winged words spake he:
“Ah hapless, manifold woe hast thou borne in the heart of thee!
How didst thou dare to come to the galleys Achaian alone
To the eyes of a man who hath slain full many a valiant one,
All sons of thine?—Of a surety an iron heart hast thou!
But come, on the high-seat sit we down, and leave we now
Our griefs in our bosoms to slumber awhile, how anguished soe’er,
For in lamentation that chilleth the heart no profit is there.
For thus for unhappy mortals the Gods have their life-threads spun,
In affliction of spirit to live, but care themselves have none.
For there stand two Urns of Doom on Zeus’s palace-floor,
With his gifts: with the evil the one, the other with good runneth o’er.
For whomso the Thunder-triumphant hath mingled of these ere he give,
Now upon evil he lighteth, and good things now doth receive.
But to whomso he giveth of evil, him with a curse doth he brand,
And him fell famine houndeth over the sea and land
A vagabond, neither in honour with Gods nor with men doth he stand.
In such wise to Peleus the Gods gave, even from his very birth,
Glorious gifts, in that peerless he was above all men on earth
In the bliss of his days, and in wealth, and the Myrmidons bowed to his sway;
And to him, though a mortal he was, a Goddess to wife gave they.
Yet God with the shadow of evil darkened even his lot
Herein, that issue of princely sons in his halls he had not.
Yet one he begat of untimely doom—ah, never mine hand
Shall be prop to the eld-overborne, for afar from my fatherland
In Troyland I sit, and give to thy children and thee no rest.
Thou too, old man—we have heard that in days overpast thou wert blest.
Through the lands that Lesbos to northward, abode of Makar, doth bound,
And all ’twixt Phrygia to eastward and limitless Hellespont found,
Of all men wert thou peerless, they say, old sire, for thy wealth and thy sons.
But since this woe hath been brought upon thee by the Heavenly Ones,
Ever around thy city is battle and murder and blood.
Endure, nor with ceaseless lamenting over thy sorrows brood,
For nothing shalt thou avail by thine anguish for that thy son,
Nor shalt raise up thy dead, ere thyself to a darker goal shalt have won,”
But to him the old man Priam the godlike made reply:
“Nay, seat me not yet on a throne, Zeus-fostered, while Hector must lie
Uncared for amidst of the tents, but release him with speed, that mine eyes
May look yet again on my son, and receive thou the ransom-price,
The treasures we bring thee: in these be thou blest, and of thee be there won
A return to thy fatherland for the merciful deed thou hast done,
To spare even me to live, and to look on the light of the sun,”
But answered Achilles the fleetfoot with dark brows anger-bent:
“Provoke me no more, old man: it was even mine own intent
To release to thee Hector: from Zeus hath a messenger come unto me,
The mother that bare me, the child of the Ancient of the Sea.
Yea, and I know thee, Priam, it doth not escape my ken
That a God led thee to the sea-swift ships of Achaian men.
No mortal would dare to come, were he never so stalwart-young,
To the host: he should ’scape not the eyes of the guards; nor is any so strong
As lightly to thrust from its place the massy bar of my door.
Wherefore enkindle thou my soul mid its grief no more,
Lest not even thee, old man, I spare my pavilion within,
Though a suppliant thou be, and against the commands of Zeus I sin.”
So did he speak, and the old man feared, and he did as he said.
But Peleides forth of the house with the leap of a lion sped;
Neither went he alone, but henchmen followed their lord, even twain;
For with hero Automedon Alkimus fared: of his warrior-train
Chiefly Achilles honoured them next to Patroclus the dead.
Then from beneath the yoke the horses and mules they led;
And they brought the herald within, the crier of that grey king,
And they caused him to sit on a seat: from the fair-polished wain did they bring
The priceless ransom for Hector’s head that waited them there.
But two cloaks left they behind, and a tunic woven fair,
That in these he might shroud the dead ere he gave him, home to be borne.
And he summoned the handmaids to wash and anoint the life-forlorn,
When first they had borne it aloof, lest Priam should see his child,
And haply should rein not his wrath, when his heart grew anguish-wild
As he looked on his son, and his curse should enkindle Achilles’ breast,
And the-hero should strike him dead, and sin against Zeus’s behest.
And so when the maids had anointed with oil that corse fresh-bathed,
In a fair-wrought mantle and tunic the body of Hector they swathed.
And Achilles himself uplifted and laid on the bier the slain,
And with him his companions upraised it, and laid on the fair-polished wain.
Then wailed he, and called on the name of the comrade held so dear:
“Be thou not angered against me, Patroclus, if haply thou hear,
Hear from thy dwelling in Hades, that godlike Hector of me
Is released to his sire: no ransom unmeet for his dead gave he;
And hereof thy portion due will I render, beloved, to thee.”
So spake he, and back to his tent is Achilles the godlike gone;
And he sat him down again on the cunningly carven throne
By the wall on the further side, and his speech to the King he addressed:
“Released is thy son to thee, ancient, according to that thy request.
On the bier is he lying: thyself shalt behold when the dawn springeth up,
And bear him away: but let us bethink us now to sup.
For Niobé beautiful-tressed took thought for her food, even then
When perished within her halls her children two and ten:
Six daughters were hers, six sons withal in manhood’s bloom.
To her sons did Apollo deal with his silver bow their doom
In his wrath: on her daughters Artemis arrow-triumphant wreaked
Vengeance, because she had matched her with Léto the beautiful-cheeked.
For she said, ‘She hath borne but twain, and children full many have I.’
And for this by the hands of the twain must all that multitude die.
Nine days in their death they lay, and to bury the dead was there none,
Forasmuch as the people to stones had been turned of Kronos’ son.
On the tenth by the Heaven-abiders, the Gods, to the grave were they borne.
Even she took thought for her food, when with weeping her strength was outworn.
And somewhere now amid crags of the desolate mountains afar,
On Sipylus, where, men say, the Goddesses’ couches are,
The beds of the Nymphs which dance around old Acheloüs’ flood,
There on her god-sent afflictions, stone though she be, doth she brood.
Come then, and our spirits with food, O ancient of men, let us cheer:
Then, when thou hast brought into Ilium him that ye count so dear,
Weep as thou wilt,—yea, well may he cost thee many a tear.”
Then Achilles leapt to his feet, and a white-fleeced sheep he slew,
And his comrades flayed it, and dealt with the carcase in order due,
And deftly they carved the flesh, and they ran the long spits through,
And heedfully roasted the meats, and the roast from the flames they withdrew.
And Automedon took the bread, and he laid it in beautiful maunds
On the board, but the flesh was dealt to his guests by Achilles’ hands.
So they put forth their hands to eat of the meats on the board that lay,
But when they had put the desire of eating and drinking away,
Then gazed on Achilles the Dardanid Priam, and marvelled to see
How great and how goodly he was, for like to the Gods was he.
And Achilles marvelled the while at Priam Dardanus’ seed,
As he gazed on his goodlihead, and hearkened his speech with heed.
But when they were filled with delight of gazing and wondering,
Then opened the first his lips the old man Priam the King:
“Zeus-fostered, grant me to lie down now, that the weary breast
In solace of pleasant slumber at last may be lulled to rest.
For these mine eyes have closed never yet mine eyelids beneath
Since the hour when beneath thine hands my son was bereft of breath.
But evermore was I groaning and brooding o’er sorrows untold,
As low in the very dung of the garth of the court I rolled.
But now have I tasted of food, and have poured the flame-flushed wine
Down my throat; but nothing ere now hath passed these lips of mine.
He spake, and Achilles commanded his comrades and handmaids to bring
And to set ’neath the corridor couches, fair rugs on the same to fling
Of crimson grain, and with carpets thereover to strew each bed,
And, to cover themselves withal, thick mantles above to spread.
So forth of the hall with the torch in their hands the handmaids fared,
And swiftly they plied their task, and the couches twain they prepared.
Then something grim was his smile as Achilles the fleetfoot spoke:
“Without shalt thou lie, dear ancient, lest one of Achaia’s folk
Come hither, some counsel-chieftain, which ever and anon
For counsel sit by my side, as meet it is to be done.
Now if any of these spied thee through the dark swift-fleeting night,
He would tell it to Agamemnon the shepherd of folk forthright,
And haply delay should befall of the rendering up of the dead.
But come now, tell to me this, and let truth unswerving be said:
Through how many days art thou minded the death-dues to Hector to pay,
That myself so long may abide, and withhold the host from the fray.”
And the old man spake, and Priam the godlike answered thereto:
“If thou wilt that I render to Hector the godlike the death-rites due,
Great grace shouldst thou show me, Achilles, if thou wouldst do this thing.
Thou knowest that pent in the city we be: far it is to bring
From the mountain the wood, and with fear do the hearts of the people fail.
Nine days over him in our halls would we make lamentation and wail,
On the tenth would we burn our dead, and his funeral-feast would we keep,
And on the eleventh the grave-mound over his bones would we heap:
On the twelfth, if it must be so, again shall the war awake.”
Then unto him fleet-footed Achilles the godlike spake:
“This boon shall be thine too, Priam the ancient, as thou dost require.
So long will I stay the battle, according to this thy desire.”
Then on the ancient king’s right hand at the wrist he laid
His hand, that with no misgiving of heart he might now be afraid.
So there in the porch of the dwelling the herald and Priam his lord
Laid them down to their rest, with deep hearts wisdom-stored.
And Achilles the while in the stately pavilion’s inmost place
Slept, and Briséis beside him, the maid of the lovely face.
Now the rest of the Gods and the car-borne heroes lay in sleep
Through the livelong night, overborne by slumber sweet and deep.
But not over Hermes the Helper of Men did slumber fling
Its spell, but his soul ever pondered in what wise Priam the King
Forth of the galleys, unmarked of the trusty guards, should be sped.
Then over his head he stood, and he spake the word, and he said:
“Old man, thou dost dream not of peril, so peacefully sleepest thou still
In the midst of thy foes, forasmuch as Achilles hath done thee no ill.
Now hast thou redeemed thee a dear dead son at a mighty price:
But to ransom a living father the same should be told down thrice
Of thy sons which be left behind, if thy coming to Atreus’ son,
Agamemnon, be told, and of all the Achaians the thing should be known.”
He spake, and the old man feared, and the herald in haste he awoke.
And for them did Hermes put the horses and mules to the yoke:
And himself drave fast through the war-host, neither did any man know.
But when they were come to the ford where the lovely waters flow
Of swirling Xanthus, the child of Zeus that abideth for aye,
Then Hermes fleeting to high Olympus vanished away;
And lo, Dawn saffron-mantled was spreading o’er all earth far.
Then on to the city with wailing and groaning they drave the car
Of the steeds, and the mules were drawing the corpse, and none was ware
Of their coming, neither of men, nor of women girded fair,
Till Kassandra, lovely as Aphrodité the Golden, clomb
Unto Pergamus’ height, and beheld her belovéd father come
As he stood on the car, and the herald, the city’s crier, she knew;
And him she beheld who lay on the bier that the mule-team drew.
Thereat with a shriek that rang down all the burg cried she:
“Haste, Trojans and daughters of Troy, and Hector so shall ye see,
If ever, as forth of the fight he returned, ye hailed him with joy;
For a crown of rejoicing he was unto Troy and the people of Troy.”
So spake she, and suddenly void was the town; there was left in her none,
Nor man, neither woman, for grief unendurable smote each one.
And hard by the gateway they met him, as onward the corpse he was bringing.
And foremost the wife of the dead and his mother, wildly flinging
Their bodies adown on the smooth-running wain, ’gan rend their hair,
Clasping his head, and weeping the throng stood round them there.
And now through the livelong day till the light of the sun had failed,
In front of the gates for Hector with shedding of tears had they wailed,
But the ancient King to the folk from the seat of the chariot spake:
“Make way for me now to pass with the mules: thereafter take
Your hearts’ desire of lamenting, when home I have borne my son.”
Back fell they to right and to left at his word, and the wain passed on.
So when they had brought their dead to the palace of far-famed pride,
They laid him adown on a fretted couch, and therebeside
Set chanters, upraisers of dirges: the song of sighing and groan
Ever they raised and anon, and the women echoed their moan.
And Andromaché ivory-wristed began in their ears the keen,
Clasping Hector the manslayer’s head her hands between:
“O husband, young from thy life hast thou perished, and left me lone
A widow within thine halls, and naught but a babe is thy son
Which was born to the hapless, to thee and to me; and never, I trow,
Shall he come unto manhood: ere then this city her crest shall bow
Unto ruin; for ho, thou hast perished, her watchman, who wont to guard
Her walls, and keptest her wives and her little ones safe in ward.
And lo, these soon shall be riding in hollow ships oversea,
And I shall be of them; and thou, my baby, shalt follow with me
Unto where thou shalt drudge at unseemly tasks, at the hest of a lord
Hard-hearted straining thy sinews: or one of Achaia’s horde
By the hand shall grasp thee, and hurl from a tower—ah piteous death!—
In his fury, whose brother perchance mine Hector hath reft of breath,
Or his father or son, seeing many and many an one of the foe
‘Neath the hands of mine Hector hath bitten the dust in his agony-throe.
For gentle thy father was not in the battle bitter and grim,
Wherefore the people through all the city be mourning for him;
And unspeakable moan hast thou left to thy parents, and yearning pain,
O Hector; and bitterest anguish to me above all shall remain;
For never thou stretchedst thine hand from the bed of thy death unto me,
Neither spakest to me one solemn word, that ceaselessly
By night and by day with outpouring of tears I might think thereon.”
So spake she, weeping the while, and the women echoed her moan.
Then thrilled them the mother’s shriek, and Hekabé raised the keen:
“O Hector, dearest of all my sons to mine heart hast thou been!
Verily dear to the Gods in the days of thy life wast thou,
And even in the doom of death have they nowise forgotten thee now.
For others Achilles sold into thraldom, sons of mine,
Whomso captive he took, far over the harvestless brine,
Unto Samos, and Imbros, and Lesbos becrested with underworld smoke.
But when he had reft thy life with the spear’s keen-cleaving stroke,
Oft round the tomb of his friend and companion by thee laid low,
Of Patroclus, he dragged thee:—yet not from the dead might he raise him so!
Yet dewy-fresh in mine halls art thou lying, as one new-slain,
Yea, like unto one that Apollo from life hath suddenly ta’en,
Whom the Lord of the Silver Bow hath with painless shaft overthrown.”
So spake she, weeping the while, and kindled unending moan.
Then a third bowed over the dead, and the wail did Helen begin:
“Hector, most dear to mine heart of all my marriage-kin—
Of a truth Alexander the godlike is he that calleth me bride,
My lord, who brought me to Troy—would God ere then I had died!
For the twentieth year is this that now passeth over mine head
Since the day I departed thence, since the land of my fathers I fled:
Yet never an evil word have I heard or despiteful from thee;
But if haply another within these halls upbraided me
Of thy brothers, or sisters, or brothers’ wives in their royal attire,
Or thy mother,—for kind as a father was evermore thy sire,—
Thy words, to appease and to hush them, prevailed my revilers among
By the spell of thy gentle spirit, the power of thy gentle tongue.
Wherefore heart-stricken I weep for mine hapless self with thee;
For in all broad Troy none other is left to be kind unto me,
No friend: all shuddering turn from me, the accursed thing.”
So wailed she and wept, and the countless throng groaned answering.
Then spake in the midst of the people Priam the ancient King:
“Bring wood to the city, ye Trojans, now, and in no man’s breast
Be there fear of a close-set ambush of Argives. Achilles’ behest
Was this, when in peace from the dark-hulled galleys he sent me home,
That the foemen should vex us not, or ever the twelfth dawn come.”
So did he speak, and the oxen unto the wains did they yoke,
And the mules, and swiftly in front of the city gathered the folk.
Nine days were they bringing the measureless wood from the mountain height:
But at last, when the tenth dawn rose, to the nations revealing her light,
Then bearing Hector the valiant forth with weeping they came,
And the corpse on the height of the pyre laid they, and they kindled the flame.
When flushed from her birth-bed of mist Dawn’s fingers rosy-hued,
Round glorious Hector’s pyre assembled the multitude.
So when they were gathered together, and thronged was all the place,
First with the wine flame-gleaming they quenched the pyre’s red blaze
All o’er, even whithersoever the might of the fire had reached.
Thereafter his brethren and comrades gathered the bones flame-bleached
Mourning, and down their cheeks the flood of their hot tears rolled;
And the bones of their hero they took, and laid in an urn of gold,
And with soft robes swathed it about in many a crimson fold.
Then swiftly they laid them to rest in a hollow grave, and thereon
Piled they a cairn close-set with many a mighty stone.
Then hastily heaped they the mound, while looked forth watchmen afar
All round, lest ere the time the Achaians should rush to the war.
So heaped they the mound, and they gat them aback: then gathered they
To the feast for the dead, and dight was the glorious banquet-array
In the halls of Priam, the great King fostered of Kronos’ Seed.
So did they bury him, Hector the Tamer of the Steed.