The Iliad: Book 24

But Achilles kept on grieving for his friend,
the memory burning on...
and all- subduing sleep could not take him,
not now, he turned and twisted, side to side

Still, the immortals loved Prince Hector dearly,
best of all the mortals born in Troy...
so I loved him, at least:
he never stinted with gifts to please my heart.

He raised back the carved lids of the chests
and lifted out twelve robes, handsome, rich brocades,
twelve cloaks, unlined and light, as many blankets,
as many big white capes and shirts to go with them.

Terrified by their father's rough commands
the sons trundled a mule-wagon out at once

They lifted off its hook a boxwood yoke for the mules,
its bulging pommel fitted with rings for guide-reins

They lifted off its hook a boxwood yoke for the mules,
its bulging pommel fitted with rings for guide-reins,
brought out with the yoke its yoke-strap nine arms long
and wedged the yoke down firm on the sanded, tapered pole

Here, quickly—pour a libation out to Father Zeus!
Pray for a safe return from all our mortal enemies

The old man was stunned, in a swirl of terror,
the hairs stood bristling all over his gnarled body

Now what if one of them saw you, rolling blithely on
through the rushing night with so much tempting treasure

And the guide and giant-killer answered staunchly,
"You're testing me, old man—asking of noble Hector..."

They chafe, sitting in camp, so bent on battle now
the kings of Achaea cannot hold them back.

Such pains the blissful gods are lavishing on your son,
dead man though he is—the gods love him dearly!

As they reached the trench and rampart round the fleet,
the sentries had just begun to set out supper there

Now, at last, they approached royal Achilles' shelter,
the tall, imposing lodge the Myrmidons built their king

Don't stir my raging heart still more.
Or under my own roof I may not spare your life, old man—
suppliant that you are—may break the laws of Zeus!

Hector lies in state. With the first light of day
you will see for yourself as you convey him home.

Both gods were enraged at Niobe. Time and again
she placed herself on a par with their own mother,
Leto in her immortal beauty—how she insulted Leto

Nine days they lay in their blood, no one to bury them—
Cronus' son had turned the people into stone…
then on the tenth the gods of heaven interred them.

Niobe still broods
on the spate of griefs the gods poured out to her.

Automedon brought the bread, set it out on the board
in ample wicker baskets.

Then Achilles nodded to Priam, leading the king on
with brusque advice: "Sleep outside, old friend,
in case some Achaean captain comes to visit..."

But sleep could never hold the running Escort—
Hermes kept on turning it over in his mind...
how could he convoy Priam clear of the ships,
unseen by devoted guards who held the gates?

Once they had borne him
into the famous halls, they laid his body down
on his large carved bed and set beside him singers
to lead off the laments, and their voices rose in grief—
they lifted the dirge high as the women wailed in answer.

Once they had borne him
into the famous halls, they laid his body down
on his large carved bed and set beside him singers
to lead off the laments, and their voices rose in grief
they lifted the dirge high as the women wailed in answer.

Her voice rang out in tears and vast throngs wailed