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but yet preserving the power of speech. As his conqueror stands over him cruelly vaunting, and vowing to give his body to the dogs and to the vultures, he makes a last appeal to his mercy. By the heads of his parents" he beseeches him to spare this last indignity; the ransom which his father Priam will offer shall be ample for one poor corpse. But the wrath of Achilles has become for the present mere savage madNeither prayer nor ransom shall avail in this Hector's last words are prophetic :

ness. matter.

"I know thee well, nor did I hope

To change thy purpose; iron is thy soul.
But see that on thy head I bring not down

The wrath of heaven, when by the Scaan gate

The hand of Paris, with Apollo's aid,

Brave warrior as thou art, shalt strike thee down." (D.)

The only glimpse of nobility which Achilles shows throughout the whole scene is in his stoical answer :— "Die thou! my fate I then shall meet, whene'er

Jove and th' immortal gods shall so decree."

What follows is mere brutality. The Greeks crowd round, and drive their weapons into the senseless body.

"And one to other looked, and, said, 'Good faith,

Hector is easier far to handle now,

Than when erewhile he wrapped our ships in fire.""

Does it need here to do more than recall the too well remembered sequel-how the savage victor pierced the heels of his dead enemy, and so fastened the body to his chariot, and dragged him off to his ships, in full sight of his agonised parents? how

"A cloud of dust the trailing body raised;
Loose hung his glossy hair; and in the dust
Was laid that noble head, so graceful once."

Or how the miserable Priam, grovelling on the floor of his palace, besought his weeping friends to suffer him to rush out of the gates, and implore the mercy of the merciless Achilles? Less horrible, if not less piteous, is the picture of Andromache :

:

"To her no messenger

Had brought the tidings, that without the walls
Remained her husband; in her house withdrawn,
A web she wove, all purple, double woof,
With varied flowers in rich embroidery,
And to her neat-haired maids she gave command
To place the largest caldrons on the fires,
That with warm baths, returning from the fight,
Hector might be refreshed; unconscious she,
That by Achilles' hand, with Pallas' aid,

Far from the bath, was godlike Hector slain.
The sounds of wailing reached her from the tower.

Then from the house she rushed, like one distract,

With beating heart; and with her went her maids.

But when the tower she reached, where stood the crowd,

And mounted on the wall, and looked around,

And saw the body trailing in the dust,

Which the fleet steeds were dragging to the ships,

A sudden darkness overspread her eyes;
Backward she fell, and gasped her spirit away.
Far off were flung th' adornments of her head,
The net, the fillet, and the woven bands;
The nuptial veil by golden Venus given,
That day when Hector of the glancing helm
Led from Eetion's house his wealthy bride.
The sisters of her husband round her pressed,

And held, as in the deadly swoon she lay." (D.)

The body is dragged off to the ships, and flung in the dust in front of the bier on which Patroclus lies. And now, at last, when he has been fully avenged, the due honours shall be paid to his beloved remains, while the dogs and vultures feast on those of Hector. Thrice in slow procession, with a mournful chant, the Myrmi

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dons lead their horses round the bier. While Achilles sleeps the deep sleep of exhaustion after the long day's battle, the shade of his dead friend appears to him, and chides him for leaving him so long unburied, a wandering ghost in the gloom below.

"Sleep'st thou, Achilles, mindless of thy friend,
Neglecting not the living, but the dead?
Hasten my fun'ral rites, that I may pass
Through Hades' gloomy gates; ere those be done,
The spirits and spectres of departed men
Drive me far from them, nor allow to cross
Th' abhorred river; but forlorn and sad

I wander through the widespread realms of night.
And give me now thy hand, whereon to weep;
For never more, when laid upon the pyre,
Shall I return from Hades; never more,
Apart from all our comrades, shall we two,

As friends, sweet counsel take; for me, stern Death,
The common lot of man, has ope'd his mouth;

Thou too, Achilles, rival of the gods,

Art destined here beneath the walls of Troy
To meet thy doom; yet one thing must I add,
And make, if thou wilt grant it, one request:
Let not my bones be laid apart from thine,
Achilles, but together, as our youth

Was spent together in thy father's house." (D.)

In

As eager now to do honour to Achilles as he was before to insult him, Agamemnon has despatched a strong force at early dawn to cut down wood for a huge funeral pile. The burial rites are grandly savage. long procession and in full panoply the Myrmidons bear the dead hero to the pile, and the corpse is covered with the long locks of hair which every warrior in turn, Achilles first, cuts off as an offering to the gods below. Four chariot-horses, and two dogs "that had fed at their master's board," are slain upon the pile, to follow him, in case he should have need of them, into the dark

and unknown country and last, the twelve Trojan captives, according to his barbarous vow, are slaughtered by Achilles in person, and laid upon the pile. The winds of heaven are solemnly invoked to fan the flames, which roar and blaze all night; and all night Achilles pours copious libations of wine from a golden goblet. With wine also the embers are quenched in the morning, and the bones of Patroclus are carefully collected and placed in a golden urn, to await the day, which Achilles foresees close at hand, when they shall be buried under one mound with his own.

There follow the funeral games. First, the chariotrace, in which Diomed carries off an easy victory with the Trojan horses which he captured from Æneas. An easy victory, because the goddess Minerva not only breaks the pole of Eumelus, his most formidable rival, but hands Diomed back his whip when he drops it : interpreted by our realistic critics to mean, that prudence bids him take a second whip as a reserve. The old "horse-tamer," Nestor, gives his son Antilochus such cunning directions, that he comes in second, though his horses are confessedly the slowest of the whole field. Next comes the battle with the costus-that barbarous form of boxing-glove, which, far from deadening the force of the blow delivered, made it more damaging and dangerous, inasmuch as the padding consisted of thongs of raw ox-hide well hardened. The combat in this case is very unequal, since the giant Epeius speedily fells his younger and lighter antagonist, who is carried almost senseless from the lists. The wrestlers are better matched; the skill and subtlety of Ulysses are a counterpoise to the huge bulk and somewhat inactive strength of Ajax, who lifts his opponent

off his feet with ease, but is brought to the ground himself by a dexterous kick upon the ancle-joint. Another fall, in which neither have the advantage, leads to the dividing of the prize-though how it was to be divided practically is not so clear, since the first prize was a tripod valued at twelve oxen, and the second a female captive, reckoned to be worth four.* The foot-race is won by Ulysses, Minerva interfering for the second. time to secure the victory for her favourite, by tripping up the lesser Ajax (son of Oileus), who was leading. The Greek poet does but refer what we should call an unlucky accident to the agency of heaven. A single combat on foot, with shield and spear, succeeds, the prize for which is the rich armour of which Patroclus had spoiled Sarpedon. He who first draws blood is to be the winner. Diomed and Ajax Telamon step into the lists, and the combat between the two great champions grows so fierce and hot, that the spectators insist on their being separated, and again the honours are adjudged to be equal; although Dio

* Madame Dacier's remarks on this valuation, and Pope's note upon them, are amusing :

"I cannot in civility neglect a remark made upon this passage by Madame Dacier, who highly resents the affront put upon her sex by the ancients, who set (it seems) thrice the value upon a tripod as upon a beautiful female slave. Nay, she is afraid, the value of women is not raised even in our days; for she says there are curious persons now living who had rather have a true antique kettle than the finest woman alive. I confess I entirely agree with the lady, and must impute such opinions of the fair sex to want of taste in both ancients and moderns. The reader may remember that these tripods were of no use, but made entirely for show; and consequently the most satirical critick could only say, the woman and tripod ought to have borne an equal value."