LD man, a god hath hither been thy guide:

As when a man, by cruel fate pursued,
In his own land hath shed another's blood,

thee from Jove,

safely here.

eyes

Will I appear: beseems it

not a god

To greet a mortal in the sight of all. But go thou in and clasp Achilles' knees, And supplicate him for his father's sake, His fair-haired mother's and his child's, that so Thy words may stir an answer in his heart.

Thus saying, Hermes to Olympus' heights
Returned; and Priam from his chariot sprang,
And left Idæus there, in charge to keep
The horses and the mules, while he himself
Entered the dwelling straight where wont to
sit

Achilles, loved of heaven. The chief he found
Within, his followers seated all apart;
Two only in his presence ministered,
The brave Automedon and Alcimus,
A warrior bold; scarce ended the repast
Of food and wine; the table still was set.
Great Priam entered unperceived of all,
And, standing by Achilles, with his arms
Embraced his knees, and kissed those fearful
hands,

slain.

Then thou, Achilles, reverence the gods,
And for thy father's sake look pitying down
On me, more needing pity, since I bear
Such grief as never man on earth hath
borne,

Who stoop to kiss the hand that slew my son."

Thus, as he spoke, within Achilles' breast
Fond mem'ry of his father rose; he touched
The old man's hand and gently put him by.
Then wept they both, by various mem'ries
stirred :

One, prostrate at Achilles' feet, bewailed
His warrior son; Achilles for his sire
And for Patroclus wept-his comrade dear;
And through the house their weeping loud
was heard.

But when Achilles had indulged his grief And eased the yearning of his heart and limbs,

Uprising, with his hand the aged sire,
Pitying his hoary head and hoary beard,
He raised, and thus with gentle words ad-
dressed:

Alas, what sorrows, poor old man, are thine!

To live in woe, while they from cares are free.

Two coffers lie beside the door of Jove
With gifts for man-one good, the other ill;
To whom from each the lord of lightning
gives,

Him sometimes evil, sometimes good, befalls;
To whom the ill alone, him foul disgrace
And grinding misery o'er the earth pursue:
By god and man alike despised he roams.
Thus from his birth the gods to Peleus gave
Excellent gifts; with wealth and substance
blessed

Above his fellows; o'er the Myrmidons
He ruled with sovereign sway; and Heaven
bestowed

On him, a mortal, an immortal bride.
Yet this of ill was mingled in his lot—
That in his house no rising race he saw
Of future kings; one only son he had-
One doomed to early death. Nor is it

mine

To tend my father's age, but far from home Thee and thy sons in Troy I vex with war. Much have we heard, too, of thy former wealth;

Above what Lesbos northward, Macar's seat,

To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire: “Tell me not yet, illustrious chief, to sit While Hector lies uncared for in the tent, But let me quickly go, that with mine eyes I may behold my son; my son; and thou accept

The ample treasures which we tender thee: Mayst thou enjoy them and in safety reach Thy native land, since thou hast spared my

life

heaven."

To whom Achilles thus with stern regard:
"Old man, incense me not; I mean myself
To give thee back thy son, for here of late,
Despatched by Jove, my goddess-mother

came,

The daughter of the aged ocean-god;

And thee too, Priam, well I know some god-
I cannot err-hath guided to our ships:
No mortal, though in venturous youth, would
dare

Apart, that Priam might not see his son, Lest his grieved heart its passion unrestrained Should utter, and Achilles, roused to wrath, His suppliant slay and Jove's command transgress.

When they had washed the body, and with oil

Anointed, and around it wrapped the robe
And vest, Achilles lifted up the dead
With his own hands and laid him on the
couch,

Which to the polished wain his followers raised.

But stir not up my anger in my grief,

called:

For no mean ransom, I restore; whereof

John;

There's not a coal, you

know;

Though with hunger I am faint, John,

And cold comes down the

snow.

in to-night.

Ah, John! you must remember,

And, John, I can't forget,
When never foot of yours, John,

Was in the ale-house set.
Ah! those were happy times, John;

No quarrels then we knew,
And none were happier in our lane
Than I, dear John, and you.

Then don't go in to-night.

You will not go! John, John, I mind,
When we were courting, few
Had arm as strong or step as firm

Or cheek as red as you;

But drink has stolen your strength, John, And paled your cheek to white,

Has tottering made your young firm tread And bowed your manly height.

What pleasant talk that day we had
Of all our future life-
Of how your steady earnings, John,
No wasting should consume,
But weekly some new comfort bring
To deck our happy room!
Then don't go in to-night.

To see us, John, as then we dressed-
So tidy, clean and neat-
Brought out all eyes to follow us

As we went down the street.
Ah! little thought our neighbors then,

And we as little thought,

That ever, John, to rags like these
By drink we should be brought.
You won't go in to-night?

And will you go? If not for me,
Yet for your baby, stay.
You know, John, not a taste of food

Has passed my lips to-day.--
And tell your father, little one,

'Tis mine your life hangs on.You will not spend the shilling, John? You'll give it him? Come, John, Come home with us to-night.