to turn, And fill thy measure from his bitter urn, What sees the sun, but hapless heroes' falls? War, and the blood of men, surround thy walls! What must be, must be. Bear thy lot, nor shed These unavailing sorrows o'er the dead; Thou canst not call him from the Stygian shore, But thou, alas! may'st live to suffer more!" To whom the king: "O favour'd of the skies! Here let me grow to earth! since Hector lies On the bare beach deprived of obsequies. O give me Hector! to my eyes restore His corse, and take the gifts: I ask no more. Thou, as thou may'st, these boundless stores enjoy; Safe may'st thou sail, and turn thy wrath from Troy; 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 unbarr'd, 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 show thee, king! thou tread'st on hostile land; Release my knees, thy suppliant arts give o'er, And shake the purpose of my soul no more." The sire obey'd him, trembling and o'eraw'd. Achilles, like a lion, rush'd abroad: Automedon and Alcimus attend, (Whom most he honour'd, since he lost his friend,) These to unyoke the mules and horses went, And led the hoary herald to the tent; Next, heap'd on high, the numerous presents bear, (Great Hector's ransom,) from the polish'd 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