Various - Blackwoods Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 59, No. 365, March, 1846

So said the noble Peleides, and ent'ring again the pavilion,
Sat on the fair-carv'd chair from whence he had risen aforetime,
Hard by the opposite wall, and accosted the reverend Priam: —
"Now has thy son, old man, been restor'd to thee as thou requiredst.
He on his bier has been laid, and thyself shall behold and remove him
Soon as the dawning appears: but of food meanwhile be we mindful.
For not unmindful of food in her sorrow was Niobe, fair-hair'd,
Albeit she in her dwelling lamented for twelve of her offspring.
Six were the daughters, and six were the sons in the flower of their manhood.
These unto death went down by the silvern bow of Apollo,
Wrathful to Niobe – those smote Artemis arrow-delighting;
For that she vaunted her equal in honour to Leto the rosy,
Saying her births were but twain, and herself was abundant in offspring:
Wherefore, twain as they were, they confounded them all in destruction.
Nine days, then, did they lie in their blood as they fell, and approach'd them
None to inter, for mankind had been turn'd into stones of Kronion;
But they had sepulture due on the tenth from the gods everlasting;
And then, mindful of food, rose Niobe, weary of weeping.
Yet still, far among rocks, in some wilderness lone of the mountains —
Sipylus holds there, they say, where the nymphs in the desert repose them.
They that in beauty divine lead dances beside Achelöus; —
There still, stone though she be, doth she brood on her harm from the god-heads.
But, O reverend king, let us also of needful refreshment
Think now. Time will hereafter be thine to bewail thy belovéd;
Home into Ilion borne – many tears may of right be his portion!"

So did he speak; and upspringing anon, swift-footed Achilles
Slaughter'd a white-wool'd sheep, and his followers skinn'd it expertly.
Skilfully then they divided, and skewer'd, and carefully roasting,
Drew from the spits; and Automedon came, bringing bread to the table,
Piled upon baskets fair; but for all of them carv'd the Peleides;
And each, stretching his hand, partook of the food that was offer'd.
But when of meat and of wine from them all the desire was departed,
Then did Dardanian Priam in wonderment gaze on Achilles,
Stately and strong to behold, for in aspect the Gods he resembled;
While on Dardanian Priam gazed also with wonder Achilles,
Seeing the countenance goodly, and hearing the words of the old man.
Till, when contemplating either the other they both were contented,
Him thus first bespake old Priam, the godlike in presence:
"Speedfully now let the couch be prepar'd for me, lov'd of Kronion!
And let us taste once more of the sweetness of slumber, reclining:
For never yet have mine eyes been clos'd for me under my eyelids,
Never since under thy hands was out-breathéd the spirit of Hector;
Groaning since then has been mine, and the brooding of sorrows unnumber'd,
In the recess of my hall, low-rolling in dust and in ashes.
But now of bread and of meat have I tasted again, and the black wine
Pour'd in my throat once more – whereof, since he was slain, I partook not."

So did he speak; and Achilles commanded the comrades and handmaids
Under the porch of the dwelling to place fair couches, and spread them
Duly with cushions on cushions of purple, and delicate carpets,
Also with mantles of wool, to be wrapt over all on the sleepers.
But they speedily past, bearing torches in hand, from the dwelling,
And two couches anon were with diligence order'd and garnish'd.

Then to the king, in a sport, thus spoke swift-footed Achilles:
"Rest thee without, old guest, lest some vigilant chief of Achaia
Chance to arrive, one of those who frequent me when counsel is needful;
Who, if he see thee belike amid night's fast-vanishing darkness,
Straightway warns in his tent Agamemnon, the Shepherd of peoples,
And the completion of ransom meets yet peradventure with hindrance.
But come, answer me this, and discover the whole of thy purpose, —
How many days thou design'st for entombing illustrious Hector;
That I may rest from the battle till then, and restrain the Achaians."

So he; and he was answer'd by Priam, the aged and godlike:
"If 'tis thy will that I bury illustrious Hector in honour,
Deal with me thus, O Peleides, and crown the desire of my spirit.
Well dost thou know how the town is begirt, and the wood at a distance,
Down from the hills to be brought, and the people are humbled in terror.
Nine days' space we would yield in our dwelling to due lamentation,
Bury the dead on the tenth, and thereafter the people be feasted;
On the eleventh let us toil till the funeral mound be completed,
But on the twelfth to the battle once more, if the battle be needful."

Instantly this was the answer of swift-footed noble Achilles:
"Reverend king, be it also in these things as thou requirest;
I for the space thou hast meted will hold the Achaians from warring."

Thus said the noble Peleides, and, grasping the wrist of the right hand,
Strengthen'd the mind of the king, that his fear might not linger within him.
They then sank to repose forthwith in the porch of the dwelling,
Priam the king and the herald coëval and prudent in counsel;
But in the inmost recess of the well-built lordly pavilion
Slept the Peleides, and by him down laid her the rosy Briséis.

All then of Gods upon high, ever-living, and warrior horsemen,
Slept through the livelong night in the gentle dominion of slumber;
But never slumber approach'd to the eyes of beneficent Hermes,
As in his mind he revolv'd how best to retire from the galleys
Priam the king, unobserv'd of the sentinels sworn for the night-watch.
Over his head, as he slept, stood the Argicide now, and address'd him:
"Old man, bodings of evil disturb not thy spirit, who slumber'st
Here among numberless foes, because noble Peleides has spared thee.
True that thy son has been ransom'd, and costly the worth of the head-gifts;
Yet would the sons that are left thee have three times more to surrender,
Wert thou but seen by the host, and the warning convey'd to Atreides."

Thus did he speak, but the king was in terror, and waken'd the herald.
Then, when beneficent Hermes had harness'd the mules and the horses,
Swiftly he drove through the camp, nor did any observe the departure.
So did they pass to the ford of the river of beautiful waters,
Xanthus the gulfy, begotten of thunder-delighting Kronion;
Then from the chariot he rose and ascended to lofty Olympus.

But now wide over earth spread morning mantled in saffron,
As amid groaning and weeping they drew to the city; the mule-wain
Bearing behind them the dead: Nor did any in Ilion see them,
Either of men, as they came, or the well-girt women of Troia:
Only Cassandra, that imaged in grace Aphrodité the golden,
Had to the Pergamus clomb, and from thence she discover'd her father
Standing afoot on the car, and beside him the summoning herald;
And in the waggon behind them the wrapt corse laid on the death-bier.
Then did she shriek, and her cry to the ends of the city resounded:

"Come forth, woman and man, and behold the returning of Hector!
Come, if ye e'er in his life, at his home-coming safe from the battle joyfully troop'd; and with joy might it fill both the town and the people."

So did she cry; nor anon was there one soul left in the city,
Woman or man, for at hand and afar was the yearning awaken'd.
Near to the gate was the king when they met him conducting the death-wain.
First rush'd, rending their hair, to behold him the wife and the mother,
And as they handled the head, all weeping the multitude stood near: —
And they had all day long till the sun went down into darkness
There on the field by the rampart lamented with tears over Hector,
But that the father arose in the car and entreated the people:
"Yield me to pass, good friends, make way for the mules – and hereafter
All shall have weeping enow when the dead has been borne to the dwelling."
So did he speak, and they, parting asunder, made way for the mule-wain.
But when they brought him at last to the famous abode of the princes,
He on a fair-carv'd bed was compos'd, and the singers around him
Rang'd, who begin the lament; and they, lifting their sorrowful voices,
Chanted the wail for the dead, and the women bemoan'd at its pausings.
But in the burst of her woe was the beauteous Andromache foremost,
Holding the head in her hands as she mourn'd for the slayer of heroes: —