Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/444

442 So shall thy pity and forbearance give

A weak old man to see the light, and live!"

"Move me no more," Achilles thus replies,

While kindling anger sparkled in his eyes,

"Nor seek by tears my steady soul to bend;

To yield thy Hector I myself intend:

For know, from Jove my goddess mother came;

Old Ocean's daughter, silver-footed dame;

Nor comest thou but by heaven; nor comest alone;

Some god impels with courage not thy own:

No human hand the weighty gates unbarred,

Nor could the boldest of our youth have dared

To pass our outworks, or elude the guard.

Cease; lest, neglectful of high Jove's command,

I shew thee, king! thou treadest on hostile land;

Release my knees, thy suppliant arts give o'er,

And shake the purpose of my soul no more."

The sire obeyed him, trembling and o'erawed.

Achilles, like a lion, rushed abroad;

Automedon and Alcimus attend,

Whom most he honoured, since he lost his friend;

These to unyoke the mules and horses went,

And led the hoary herald to the tent:

Next, heaped on high, the numerous presents bear,

Great Hector's ransom, from the polished car.

Two splendid mantles, and a carpet spread,

They leave, to cover and enwrap the dead:

Then call the handmaids, with assistant toil

To wash the body, and anoint with oil,

Apart from Priam; lest the unhappy sire,

Provoked to passion, once more rouse to ire

The stern Pelides; and nor sacred age,

Nor Jove's command, should check the rising rage.

This done, the garments o'er the corse they spread;

Achilles lifts it to the funeral bed:

Then, while the body on the car they laid,

He groans, and calls on loved Patroclus' shade:

"If, in that gloom which never light must know,

The deeds of mortals touch the ghosts below;

O friend! forgive me, that I thus fulfil,

Restoring Hector, heaven's unquestioned will.

The gifts the father gave, be ever thine,

To grace thy manes, and adorn thy shrine."

He said, and, entering, took his seat of state,

Where full before him reverend Priarn sat:

To whom, composed, the godlike chief begun:

"Lo! to thy prayer restored, thy breathless

Extended on the funeral couch he lies;

And, soon as morning paints the eastern skies,