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This said, he went, and what was done
Told Priam, saying: "Father, now thy will's fit rites are paid,
Thy son is given up; in the morn thine eyes shall see him laid
Deck'd in thy chariot on his bed; in mean space let us eat.
The rich-hair'd Niobe found thoughts that made her take her meat,
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Though twelve dear children she saw slain, six daughters, six young sons.
The sons incens'd Apollo slew; the maids' confusions
Diana wrought, since Niobe her merits durst compare
With great Latona's, arguing that she did only bear
Two children and herself had twelve, for which those only two
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Slew all her twelve. Nine days they lay steep'd in their blood, her woe
Found no friend to afford them fire, Saturnius had turn'd
Humans to stones. The tenth day yet the good Celestials burn'd
The trunks themselves, and Niobe, when she was tir'd with tears,
Fell to her food, and now with rocks and wild hills mix'd she bears
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In Sipylus the Gods' wraths still, in that place where 'tis said
The Goddess Fairies use to dance about the funeral bed
Of Achelous, where, though turn'd with cold grief to a stone,
Heaven gives her heat enough to feel what plague comparison
With his pow'rs made by earth deserves. Affect not then too far
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Without grief, like a God, being a man, but for a man's life care,
And take fit food; thou shalt have time beside to mourn thy son;
He shall be tearful, thou being full, not here, but Ilion
Shall find thee weeping-rooms enow." He said, and so arose,
And caus'd a silver-fleec'd sheep kill'd; his friends' skills did dispose
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The flaying, cutting of it up, and cookly spitted it,
Roasted, and drew it artfully. Automedon, as fit,
Was for the reverend sewer's place, and all the brown joints serv'd
On wicker vessel to the board; Achilles' own hands kerv'd,
And close they fell to. Hunger stanch'd, talk, and observing time,
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Was us'd of all hands. Priam sat amaz'd to see the prime
Of Thetis' son, accomplish'd so with stature, looks, and grace,
In which the fashion of a God he thought had chang'd his place.
Achilles fell to him as fast, admir'd as much his years
Told in his grave and good aspect, his speech even charm'd his ears,
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So order'd, so material. With this food feasted too,
Old Priam spake thus: "Now, Jove's seed, command that I may go,
And add to this feast grace of rest. These lids ne'er clos'd mine eyes
Since under thy hands fled the soul of my dear son; sighs, cries,
And woes, all use from food and sleep have taken; the base courts
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Of my sad palace made my beds, where all the abject sorts
Of sorrow I have varied, tumbled in dust, and hid;
No bit, no drop, of sustenance touch'd."
Iliad. Homer. ed. George Chapman. London. 1887.
Sponsored by Perseus Project, Tufts University.
Mourners lament as Hector’s corpse is laid out in preparation for the funeral that closes Iliad Rhapsody 24. Copperplate etching (1795) by Tommaso Piroli, after a drawing (1793) by John Flaxman.
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