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

      So having said, he was answer'd by Priam the aged and godlike:

      "Seat not me on the chair, O belov'd of Olympus! while Hector

      Lies in the tent uninterr'd; but I pray thee deliver him swiftly,

      That I may see with mine eyes: and, accepting the gifts of redemption,

      Therein have joy to thy heart; and return thou homeward in safety,

      Since of thy mercy I live and shall look on the light of the morning."

      Darkly regarding the King, thus answer'd the rapid Achilles:

      "Stir me to anger no more, old man; of myself I am minded

      To the release of the dead, for a messenger came from Kronion

      Hither, the mother that bore me, the child of the Ancient of Ocean.

      Thee, too, I know in my mind, nor has aught of thy passage escap'd me;

      How that some God was the guide of thy steps to the ships of Achaia.

      For never mortal had dared to advance, were he blooming in manhood,

      Here to the host by himself; nor could sentinels all be avoided;

      Nor by an imbecile push might the bar be dislodg'd at my bulwark.

      Therefore excite me no more, old man, when my soul is in sorrow,

      Lest to thyself peradventure forbearance continue not alway,

      Suppliant all that thou art – but I break the behest of the Godhead."

      So did he speak; but the old man fear'd, and obey'd his commandment.

      Forth of the door of his dwelling then leapt like a lion Peleides;

      But not alone: of his household were twain that attended his going,

      Hero Automedon first, and young Alkimus, he that was honour'd

      Chief of the comrades around since the death of belovéd Patroclus.

      These from the yoke straightway unharness'd the mules and the horses,

      And they conducted within the coëval attendant of Priam,

      Bidding him sit in the tent: then swiftly their hands from the mule-wain

      Raise the uncountable wealth of the King's Hectorean head-gifts.

      But two mantles they leave and a tunic of beautiful texture,

      Seemly for wrapping the dead as the ransomer carries him homeward.

      Then were the handmaidens call'd, and commanded to wash and anoint him,

      Privately lifted aside, lest the son should be seen of the father,

      Lest in the grief of his soul he restrain not his anger within him,

      Seeing the corse of his son, but enkindle the heart of Achilles,

      And he smite him to death, and transgress the command of Kronion.

      But when the dead had been wash'd and anointed with oil by the maidens,

      And in the tunic array'd and enwrapt in the beautiful mantle,

      Then by Peleides himself was he rais'd and compos'd on the hand-bier;

      Which when the comrades had lifted and borne to its place in the mule-wain,

      Then groan'd he; and he call'd on the name of his friend, the belovéd: —

      "Be not wroth with me now, O Patroclus, if haply thou hearest,

      Though within Hades obscure, that I yield the illustrious Hector

      Back to his father dear. Not unworthy the gifts of redemption;

      And unto thee will I render thereof whatsoever is seemly."

      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