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

      Weeping Andromache ceased, and the women bemoan'd at her pausing;

      Then in her measureless grief spake Hecuba, next of the mourners:

      "Hector! of all that I bore ever dearest by far to my heart-strings!

      Dear above all wert thou also in life to the gods everlasting;

      Wherefore they care for thee now, though in death's dark destiny humbled!

      Others enow of my sons did the terrible runner Achilles

      Sell, whomsoever he took, far over the waste of the waters,

      Either to Samos or Imber, or rock-bound harbourless Lemnos;

      But with the long-headed spear did he rifle the life from thy bosom,

      And in the dust did he drag thee, oft times, by the tomb of his comrade,

      Him thou hadst slain; though not so out of death could he rescue Patroclus.

      Yet now, ransom'd at last, and restored to the home of thy parents,

      Dewy and fresh liest thou, like one that has easily parted,

      Under a pangless shaft from the silvern bow of Apollo."

      So did the mother lament, and a measureless moaning received her;

      Till, at their pausing anew, spake Helena, third of the mourners: —

      "Hector! dearest to me above all in the house of my husband!

      Husband, alas! that I call him; oh! better that death had befallen!

      Summer and winter have flown, and the twentieth year is accomplish'd

      Since the calamity came, and I fled from the land of my fathers;

      Yet never a word of complaint have I heard from thee, never of hardness;

      But if another reproach'd, were it brother or sister of Paris,

      Yea, or his mother, (for mild evermore as a father was Priam,)

      Them didst thou check in their scorn, and the bitterness yielded before thee,

      Touch'd by thy kindness of soul and the words of thy gentle persuasion.

      Therefore I weep, both for thee and myself to all misery destined,

      For there remains to me now in the war-swept wideness of Troia,

      None either courteous or kind – but in all that behold me is horror."

      So did she cease amid tears, and the women bemoan'd at her pausing;

      But King Priam arose, and he spake in the gate to the people: —

      "Hasten ye, Trojans, arise, and bring speedily wood to the city:

      Nor be there fear in your minds of some ambush of lurking Achaians,

      For when I came from the galleys the promise was pledged of Peleides,

      Not to disturb us with harm till the twelfth reappearance of morning."

      So did he speak: and the men to their wains put the mules and the oxen,

      And they assembled with speed on the field by the gates of the city.

      Nine days' space did they labour, and great was the heap from the forest:

      But on the tenth resurrection for mortals of luminous morning,

      Forth did they carry, with weeping, the corse of the warrior Hector,

      Laid him on high on the pyre, and enkindled the branches beneath him.

      Now, with the rose-finger'd dawn once more in the orient shining,

      All reassembled again at the pyre of illustrious Hector.

      First was the black wine pour'd on the wide-spread heap of the embers,

      Quenching wherever had linger'd the strength of the glow: and thereafter,

      Brethren and comrades belov'd from the ashes collected the white bones,

      Bending with reverent tears, every cheek in the company flowing.

      But when they all had been found, and the casket of gold that receiv'd them,

      Carefully folded around amid fair soft veilings of purple,

      Deep in the grave they were laid, and the huge stones piled to the margin.

      Swiftly the earth-mound rose: but on all sides watchers were planted,

      Fearful of rush unawares from the well-greaved bands of Achaia.

      Last, when the mound was complete, and the men had return'd to the city,

      All in the halls of the King were with splendid solemnity feasted.

      Thus was the sepulture order'd of Hector the Tamer of Horses.