Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/411

215—263 Sad sacrifice! twelve Trojan captives fell:

On these the rage of fire victorious preys,

Involves, and joins them in one common blaze.

Smeared with the bloody rites he stands on high,

And calls the spirit with a dreadful cry:

"All hail, Patroclus! let thy vengeful ghost

Hear and exult on Pluto's dreary coast.

Behold Achilles' promise fully paid,

Twelve Trojan heroes offered to thy shade;

But heavier fates on Hector's corse attend,

Saved from the flames, for hungry dogs to rend."

So spake he, threatening: but the gods made vain

His threat, and guard inviolate the slain:

Celestial Venus hovered o'er his head,

And roseate unguents, heavenly fragrance I shed:

She watched him all the night, and all the day,

And drove the bloodhounds from their destined prey.

Nor sacred Phoebus less employed his care:

He poured around a veil of gathered air,

And kept the nerves undried, the flesh entire,

Against the solar beam and Sirian fire.

Nor yet the pile, where dead Patroclus lies,

Smokes, nor as yet the sullen flames arise;

But, fast beside, Achilles stood in prayer,

Invoked the gods whose spirit moves the air,

And victims promised, and libations cast

To gentle zephyr and the Boreal blast:

He called the aerial Powers, along the skies

To breathe, and whisper to the fires to rise.

The winged Iris heard the hero's call,

And instant hastened to their airy hall,

Where, in old Zephyr's open courts on high,

Sat all the blustering brethren of the sky.

She shone amidst them, on her painted bow;

The rocky pavement glittered with the show.

All from the banquet rise, and each invites

The various goddess to partake the rites.

"Not so," the dame replied, "I haste to go

To sacred Ocean, and the floods below;

E'en now our solemn hecatombs attend,

And heaven is feasting on the world's green end,

With righteous Æthiops, uncomipted train!

Far on the extremest limits of the main.

But Peleus' son entreats, with sacrifice,

The western spirit, and the north to rise;

Let on Patroclus' pile your blast be driven,

And bear the blazing honours high to heaven."

Swift as the word, she vanished from their view:

Swift as the word, the winds tumultuous flew;