Whofe hand in vain, directed by her love,
The martial scarf and robe of triumph wove.
Now to devouring flames be these a prey,
Ufeless to thee, from this accurfed day!
Yet let the facrifice at least be paid,
An honour to the living, not the dead.

So fpake the mournful dame: her matrons hear, Sigh back her fighs, and answer tear with tear,

660

THE

THE

TWENTY-THIRD BOOK

OF THE

I L I A D.

ARGUMENT.

ACHILLES and the Myrmidons do honour to the body of Patroclus. After the funeral feaft, he retires to the fea-fhore, where, falling asleep, the ghost of his friend appears to him, and demands the rites of burial; the next morning the foldiers are fent with mules and waggons to fetch wood for the pyre. The funeral proceffion, and the offering their hair to the dead. Achilles facrifices feveral animals, and laftly twelve Trojan captives, at the pile; then fets fire to it. He pays libations to the winds, which (at the instance of Iris) rife, and raife 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 inftitutes the funeral games: the chariot-race, the fight of the cæftus, the wrestling, the foot-race, the Single combat, the difcus, the shooting with arrows, the darting the javelin: the various defcriptions of which, and the various fuccefs of the feveral antagonists, make the greatest part of the book

In this book ends the thirtieth day. The night following, the ghoft 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 fcene is generally on the sea-shore.

THE

TH

ILIA

I A D.

BOOK XXIII.

HUS, humbled in the duft, the penfive train
Through the fad city mourn'd her hero flain.
The body foil'd with duft, and black with gore,
Lies on broad Hellefpont's refounding shore :
The Grecians feek their ships, and clear the strand, 5
All, but the martial Myrmidonian band;
These yet affembled great Achilles holds,
And the ftern purpose of his mind unfolds:

Not yet, my brave companions of the war,
Release your smoking courfers from the car;
But, with his chariot each in order led,
Perform due honours to Patroclus dead.
Ere yet from reft or food we feek relief,
Some rites remain, to glut our rage of grief.

The troops obey'd; and thrice in order led
(Achilles first) their courfers round the dead;,
And thrice their forrows and laments renew;
Tears bathe their arms, and tears the fands bedew,
For fuch a warriour Thetis aids their woe,

Melts their strong hearts, and bids their eyes to flow.
But chief, Pelides: thick-fucceeding fighs

Burft from his heart, and torrents from his eyes:

10

His