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Description
his wrath the trembling hosts retire;
The gods in terrors, and the skies on fire.
Nor great Idomeneus that sight could bear,
Nor each stern Ajax, thunderbolts of war:
Nor he, the king of war, the alarm sustain'd
Nestor alone, amidst the storm remain'd.
Unwilling he remain'd, for Paris' dart
Had pierced his courser in a mortal part;
Fix'd in the forehead, where the springing man
Curl'd o'er the brow, it stung him to the brain;
Mad with his anguish, he begins to rear,
Paw wi
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be these a prey,
Useless to thee, from this accursed day!
Yet let the sacrifice at least be paid,
An honour to the living, not the dead!"
So spake the mournful dame: her matrons hear,
Sigh back her sighs, and answer tear with tear.
BOOK XXIII.
ARGUMENT.
FUNERAL GAMES IN HONOUR OF PATROCLUS.(280)
Achilles and the Myrmidons do honours to the body of Patroclus. After the
funeral feast he retires to the sea-shore, where, falling asleep, the
ghost of his friend appears to him, and demands the rites of burial; the
next morning the soldiers are sent with mules and waggons to fetch wood
for the pyre. The funeral procession, and the offering their hair to the
dead. Achilles sacrifices several animals, and lastly twelve Trojan
captives, at the pile; then sets fire to it. He pays libations to the
Winds, which (at the instance of Iris) rise, and raise the flames. When
the pile has burned all night, they gather the bones, place them in an urn
of gold, and raise the tomb. Achilles institutes the funeral games: the
chariot-race, the fight of the caestus, the wrestling, the foot-race, the
single combat, the discus, the shooting with arrows, the darting the
javelin: the various descriptions of which, and the various success of the
several antagonists, make the greatest part of the book.
In this book ends the thirtieth day. The night following, the ghost of
Patroclus appears to Achilles: the one-and-thirtieth day is employed in
felling the timber for the pile: the two-and-thirtieth in burning it; and
the three-and-thirtieth in the games. The scene is generally on the
sea-shore.
Thus humbled in the dust, the pensive train
Through the sad city mourn'd her hero slain.
The body soil'd with dust, and black with gore,
Lies on broad Hellespont's resounding shore.
The Grecians seek their ships, and clear the strand,
All, but the martial Myrmidonian band:
These yet assembled great Achilles holds,
And the stern purpose of his mind unfolds:
"Not yet, my