by Homer
I now return, nor to Achilles' eyes
Will I appear; beseems it not a God
To greet a mortal in the sight of all.
But go thou in, and clasp Achilles' knees,
And supplicate him for his father's sake,
His fair-hair'd mother's, and his child's, that so
Thy words may stir an answer in his heart."
Thus saying, Hermes to Olympus' heights
Return'd; and Priam from his chariot sprang,
And left Idaeus there, in charge to keep
The horses and the mules, while he himself
Enter'd the dwelling straight, where wont to sit
Achilles, lov'd of Heav'n. The chief he found
Within, his followers seated all apart;
Two only in his presence minister'd,
The brave Automedon, and Alcimus,
A warrior bold; scarce ended the repast
Of food and wine; the table still was set.
Great Priam enter'd, unperceiv'd of all;
And standing by Achilles, with his arms
Embrac'd his knees, and kiss'd those fearful hands,
Blood-stain'd, which many of his sons had slain.
As when a man, by cruel fate pursued,
In his own land hath shed another's blood,
And flying, seeks beneath some wealthy house
A foreign refuge; wond'ring, all behold:
On godlike Priam so with wonder gaz'd
Achilles; wonder seiz'd th' attendants all,
And one to other looked; then Priam thus
To Peleus' son his suppliant speech address'd:
"Think, great Achilles, rival of the Gods,
Upon thy father, e'en as I myself
Upon the threshold of unjoyous age:
And haply he, from them that dwell around
May suffer wrong, with no protector near
To give him aid; yet he, rejoicing, knows
That thou still liv'st; and day by day may hope
To see his son returning safe from Troy;
While I, all hapless, that have many sons,
The best and bravest through the breadth of Troy,
Begotten, deem that none are left me now.
Fifty there were, when came the sons of Greece;
Nineteen the offspring of a single womb;
The rest, the women of my household bore.
Of these have many by relentless Mars
Been laid in dust; but he, my only one,
The city's and his brethren's sole defence,
He, bravely fighting in his country's cause,
Hector, but lately by thy hand hath fall'n:
On his behalf I venture to approach
The Grecian ships; for his release to thee
To make my pray'r, and priceless ransom pay.
Then thou, Achilles, reverence the Gods;
And, for thy father's sake, look pitying down
On me, more needing pity; since I bear
Such grief as never man on earth hath borne.
Who stoop to kiss the hand that slew my son."
Thus as he spoke, within Achilles' breast
Fond mem'ry of his father rose; he touch'd
The old man's hand, and gently put him by;
Then wept they both, by various mem'ries stirr'd:
One, prostrate at Achilles' feet, bewail'd
His warrior son; Achilles for his sire,
And for Patroclus wept, his comrade dear;
And through the house their weeping loud was heard.
But when Achilles had indulg'd his grief,
And eas'd the yearning of his heart and limbs,
Uprising, with his hand the aged sire,
Pitying his hoary head and hoary beard,
He rais'd, and thus with gentle words address'd:
"Alas, what sorrows, poor old man, are thine!
How couldst thou venture to the Grecian ships
Alone, and to the presence of the man
Whose hand hath slain so many of thy sons,
Many and brave? an iron heart is thine!
But sit thou on this seat; and in our hearts,
Though filled with grief, let us that grief suppress;
For woful lamentation nought avails.
Such, is the thread the Gods for mortals spin,
To live in woe, while they from cares are free.
Two coffers lie beside the door of Jove,
With gifts for man: one good, the other ill;
To whom from each the Lord of lightning gives,
Him sometimes evil, sometimes good befalls;
To whom the ill alone, him foul disgrace
And grinding mis'ry o'er the earth pursue:
By God and man alike despis'd he roams.
Thus from his birth the Gods to Peleus gave
Excellent gifts; with wealth and substance bless'd
Above his fellows; o'er the Myrmidons
He rul'd with sov'reign sway; and Heav'n bestow'd
On him, a mortal, an immortal bride.
Yet this of ill was mingled in his lot,
That in his house no rising race he saw
Of future Kings; one only son he had,
One doom'd to early death; nor is it mine
To tend my father's age; but far from home
Thee and thy sons in Troy I vex with war.
Much have we heard too of thy former wealth;
Above what Lesbos northward, Macar's seat,
Contains, and Upper Phrygia, and the shores
Of boundless Hellespont, 'tis said that thou
In wealth and number of thy sons wast bless'd.
But since on thee this curse the Gods have brought,
Still round thy city war and murder rage.
Bear up, nor thus with grief incessant mourn;
Vain is thy sorrow for thy gallant son;
Thou canst not raise him, and mayst suffer more."
To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire;
"Tell me not yet, illustrious chief, to sit,
While Hector lies, uncar'd for, in the tent;
But let me quickly go, that with mine eyes
I may behold my son; and thou accept
The ample treasures which we tender thee:
Mayst thou enjoy them, and in safety reach
Thy native land, since thou hast spar'd my life,
And bidd'st me still behold the light of Heav'n."
To whom Achilles thus with stern regard:
"Old man, incense me not; I mean myself
To give thee back thy son; for here of late
Despatch'd by Jove, my Goddess-mother came,
The daughter of the aged Ocean-God:
And thee too, Priam, well I know, some God
(I cannot err) hath guided to our ships.
No mortal, though in vent'rous youth, would dare
Our camp to enter; nor could hope to pass
Unnotic'd by the watch, nor easily
Remove the pond'rous bar that guards our doors.
But stir not up my anger in my grief;
Lest, suppliant though thou be, within my tent
I brook thee not, and Jove's command transgress."
He said; the old man trembled, and obey'd;
Then to the door-way, with a lion's spring,
Achilles rush'd; not unaccompanied;
With him Automedon and Aleimus,
His two attendants, of his followers all,
Next to the lost Patroclus, best-esteem'd;
They from the yoke the mules and horses loos'd;
Then led the herald of the old man in,
And bade him sit; and from the polish'd wain
The costly ransom took of Hector's head.
Two robes they left, and one well-woven vest,
To clothe the corpse, and send with honour home.
Then to the female slaves he gave command
To wash the body, and anoint with oil,
&n
bsp; Apart, that Priam might not see his son;
Lest his griev'd heart its passion unrestrain'd
Should utter, and Achilles, rous'd to wrath,
His suppliant slay, and Jove's command transgress.
When they had wash'd the body, and with oil
Anointed, and around it wrapp'd the robe
And vest, Achilles lifted up the dead
With his own hands, and laid him on the couch;
Which to the polish'd wain his followers rais'd.
Then groaning, on his friend by name he call'd:
"Forgive, Patroclus! be not wroth with me,
If in the realm of darkness thou shouldst hear
That godlike Hector to his father's arms,
For no mean ransom, I restore; whereof
A fitting share for thee I set aside."
This said, Achilles to the tent return'd;
On the carv'd couch, from whence he rose, he sat
Beside the wall; and thus to Priam spoke:
"Old man, thy son, according to thy pray'r,
Is giv'n thee back; upon the couch he lies;
Thyself shalt see him at the dawn of day.
Meanwhile the ev'ning meal demands our care.
Not fair-hair'd Niobe abstain'd from food
When in the house her children lay in death,
Six beauteous daughters and six stalwart sons.
The youths, Apollo with his silver bow,
The maids, the Archer-Queen, Diana, slew,
With anger fill'd that Niobe presum'd
Herself with fair Latona to compare,
Her many children with her rival's two;
So by the two were all the many slain.
Nine days in death they lay; and none was there
To pay their fun'ral rites; for Saturn's son
Had given to all the people hearts of stone.
At length th' immortal Gods entomb'd the dead.
Nor yet did Niobe, when now her grief
Had worn itself in tears, from food refrain.
And now in Sipylus, amid the rocks,
And lonely mountains, where the Goddess nymphs
That love to dance by Achelous' stream,
'Tis said, were cradled, she, though turn'd to stone,
Broods o'er the wrongs inflicted by the Gods.
So we too, godlike sire, the meal may share;
And later, thou thy noble son mayst mourn,
To Troy restor'd — well worthy he thy tears."
This said, he slaughter'd straight a white-fleec'd sheep;
His comrades then the carcase flay'd and dress'd:
The meat prepar'd, and fasten'd to the spits;
Roasted with care, and from the fire withdrew.
The bread Automedon from baskets fair
Apportion'd out; the meat Achilles shar'd.
They on the viands set before them fell.
The rage of thirst and hunger satisfied,
In wonder Priam on Achilles gaz'd,
His form and stature; as a God he seem'd;
And he too look'd on Priam, and admir'd
His venerable face, and gracious speech.
With mutual pleasure each on other gaz'd,
Till godlike Priam first address'd his host:
"Dismiss me now, illustrious chief, to rest;
And lie we down, in gentle slumbers wrapp'd;
For never have mine eyes been clos'd in sleep,
Since by thy hand my gallant son was slain:
But groaning still, I brood upon my woes,
And in my court with dust my head defile.
Now have I tasted bread, now ruddy wine
Hath o'er my palate pass'd; but not till now."
Thus he; his comrades and th' attendant maids
Achilles order'd in the corridor
Two mattresses to place, with blankets fair
Of purple wool o'erlaid; and on the top
Rugs and soft sheets for upper cov'ring spread.
They from the chamber, torch in hand, withdrew,
And with obedient haste two beds prepar'd.
Then thus Achilles spoke in jesting tone:
"Thou needs must sleep without, my good old friend;
Lest any leader of the Greeks should come,
As is their custom, to confer with me;
Of them whoe'er should find thee here by night
Forthwith to Agamemnon would report,
And Hector might not be so soon, restor'd.
But tell me truly this; how many days
For godlike Hector's fun'ral rites ye need;
That for so long a time I may myself
Refrain from combat, and the people stay."
To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire:
"If by thy leave we may indeed perform
His fun'ral rites, to thee, Achilles, great
Will be our gratitude, if this thou grant.
Thou know'st how close the town is hemm'd around;
And from the mountain, distant as it is,
The Trojans well may fear to draw the wood.
Nine days to public mourning would we give;
The tenth, to fun'ral rites and fun'ral feast;
Then on th' eleventh would we raise his mound;
The twelfth, renew the war, if needs we must."
To whom Achilles swift of foot replied:
"So shall it be, old Priam; I engage
To stay the battle for the time requir'd."
Thus speaking, with his hand the old man's wrist
He grasp'd, in token that he need not fear.
Then in the corridor lay down to rest
Old Priam and the herald, Elders sage;
While in his tent's recess Achilles slept,
The fair Briseis resting by his side.
In night-long slumbers lay the other Gods,
And helmed chiefs, by gentle sleep subdued;
But on the eyes of Hermes, Guardian-God,
No slumber fell, deep pond'ring in his mind
How from the ships in safety to conduct
The royal Priam, and the guard elude.
Above the sleeper's head he stood, and cried:
"Old man, small heed thou tak'st of coining ill,
Who, when Achilles gives thee leave to go,
Sleep'st undisturb'd, surrounded by thy foes.
Thy son hath been restor'd, and thou hast paid
A gen'rous price; but to redeem thy life,
If Agamemnon and the other Greeks
Should know that thou art here, full thrice so much
Thy sons, who yet are left, would have to pay."
He said; the old man trembled, and arous'd
The herald; while the horses and the mules
Were yok'd by Hermes, who with silent speed
Drove through th' encampment, unobserv'd of all.
But when they came to eddying Xanthus' ford,
Fair-flowing stream, born of immortal Jove,
To high Olympus Hermes took his flight,
As morn, in saffron robe, o'er all the earth
Was light diffusing; they with fun'ral wail
Drove cityward the horses; following came
The mules that drew the litter of the dead.
The plain they travers'd o'er, observ'd of none,
Or man or woman, till Cassandra, fair
As golden Venus, from the topmost height
Of Pergamus, her father in his car
Upstanding saw, the herald at his side.
Him too she saw, who on the litter lay;
Then lifted up her voice, and cried aloud
To all the city, "Hither, Trojans, come,
Both men and women, Hector see restor'd;
If, while he liv'd, returning from the fight,
Ye met him e'er rejoicing, who indeed
Was all the city's chiefest joy and pride."
She said; nor man nor woman then was left
Within the city; o'er the minds
of all
Grief pass'd, resistless; to the gates in throngs
They press'd, to crowd round him who brought the dead.
The first to clasp the body were his wife
And honour'd mother; eagerly they sprang
On the smooth-rolling wain, to touch the head
Of Hector; round them, weeping, stood the crowd
Weeping, till sunset, all the live-long day
Had they before the gates for Hector mourn'd;
Had not old Priam from the car address'd
The crowd: "Make way, that so the mules may pass;
When to my house I shall have brought my dead,
Ye there may vent your sorrow as ye will."
Thus as he spoke, obedient to his word
They stood aside, and for the car made way:
But when to Priam's lordly house they came,
They laid him on a rich-wrought couch, and call'd
The minstrels in, who by the hero's bed
Should lead the melancholy chorus; they
Pour'd forth the music of the mournful dirge,
While women's voices join'd in loud lament.
White-arm'd Andromache the wail began,
The head of Hector clasping in her hands:
"My husband, thou art gone in pride of youth,
And in thine house hast left me desolate;
Thy child an infant still, thy child and mine,
Unhappy parents both! nor dare I hope
That he may reach the ripeness of his youth;
For ere that day shall Troy in ruin fall,
Since thou art gone, her guardian! thou whose arm
Defended her, her wives, and helpless babes!
They now shall shortly o'er the sea be borne,
And with them I shall go; thou too, my child,
Must follow me, to servile labour doom'd,
The suff'ring victim of a tyrant Lord;
Unless perchance some angry Greek may seize
And dash thee from the tow'r — a woful death!
Whose brother, or whose father, or whose son
By Hector hath been slain; for many a Greek
By Hector's hand hath bit the bloody dust;
Not light in battle was thy father's hand!
Therefore for him the gen'ral city mourns;
Thou to thy parents bitter grief hast caus'd,
Hector! but bitt'rest grief of all hast left
To me! for not to me was giv'n to clasp
The hand extended from thy dying bed,
Nor words of wisdom catch, which night and day,
With tears, I might have treasur'd in my heart."
Weeping she spoke — the women join'd the wail.
Then Hecuba took up the loud lament:
"Hector, of all my children dearest thou!
Dear to th' Immortals too in life wast thou,
And they in death have borne thee still in mind;
For other of my sons, his captives made,