"Strengthen thy spirit within thee, Dardantan Priam, and fear not:

      For with no message of evil have I to thy dwelling descended,

      But with a kindly intent, and I come from the throne of Kronion,

      Who, though afar be his seat, with concern and compassion beholds thee.

      Thee the Olympian calls to go forth for the ransom of Hector,

      Laden with gifts for Peleides, wherewith to appease and content him.

      Go thou alone: not a man from the gates of the city attending;

      Only for guiding the mules be some elderly herald appointed,

      Who may have charge of the wain with its treasure, and back to the city

      Carefully carry the dead that was slain by the godlike Achilles."

      Thus having spoken to Priam, the wind-footed Iris departed;

      And he commanded his sons straightway to make ready the mule-wain,

      Strong-built; sturdy of wheel, and upon it to fasten the coffer.

      But he himself from the hall to his odorous chamber descended,

      Cedarn, lofty of roof, wherein much treasure was garner'd,

      And unto Hecuba calling, outspake to her generous Priam: —

      "Mourner! but now at my hand hath a messenger stood from Kronion;

      Me he commands to go forth to the ships for redeeming of Hector,

      Carrying gifts for Peleides, wherewith to appease and content him.

      Answer me truly, my spouse, and declare what of this is thy judgment,

      For of a surety my heart and my spirit with vehement urgence

      Move me to go to the ships and the wide-spread host of Achaians."

      Thus did he say; but the spouse of the old man shriekt, and made answer:

      "Wo to me! whither are scatter'd the wits that were famous aforetime,

      Not with the Trojans alone, but afar in the lands of the stranger?

      Wo to me! thou to adventure, alone, to the ships of Achaia,

      Into the sight of the man by whose fierceness thy sons have been murder'd,

      Many, and comely, and brave! Of a surety thy heart is of iron;

      For if he holds thee but once, and his eyes have been fasten'd upon thee,

      Bloody and faithless is he, hope thou neither pity nor worship.

      Him that is taken away let us mourn for him here in our dwelling,

      Since we can see him no more; the immoveable Destiny markt him,

      And it was wove in his thread, even so, in the hour that I bare him,

      To be the portion of dogs, who shall feast on him far from his parents,

      Under the eyes of the foe: whose liver if I could but grapple

      Fast by the midst to devour, he then should have just retribution

      For what he did to my son; for in no misbehaving he slew him,

      But for the men of his land and the well-girt women of Troia

      Firm stood Hector in field; neither mindful of flight nor avoidance."

      This was her answer from Priam, the old man godlike in presence: —

      "Hold me not back when my will is to go; nor thyself in my dwelling

      Be the ill-omening bird: – howbe, thou shalt not persuade me.

      Had I been bidden to this by a mortal of earth's generation,

      Prophet, or Augur, or Priest might he be, I had deem'd him deceitful;

      Not to go forth, but to stay, had the more been the bent of my purpose:

      But having heard her myself, looking face unto face on the Goddess,

      Go I, nor shall the word be in vain; and, if Destiny will'd me,

      Going, to meet with my death at the ships of the brass-coated Argives,

      So let it be. I refuse not to die by the hand of Achilles,

      Clasping my son in mine arms, the desire of my sorrow accomplish'd."

      So having spoken, he open'd the coffers that shone in his chamber,

      Whence he selected, anon, twelve shawls surpassingly splendid;

      Delicate wool-cloaks twelve, and the like of embroidered carpets;

      Twelve fair mantles of state, and of tunics as many to match them.

      Next, having measur'd his gold, did he heap ten plentiful talents;

      Twain were the tripods he chose, twice twain the magnificent platters;

      Lastly, a goblet of price, which the chieftains of Thracia tender'd

      When he on embassy journey'd: a great gift, yet did the old man

      Grudge not to pluck from his store even this, for his spirit impell'd him

      Eager to ransom his son: But the people who look'd on his treasure

      Them did he chase from the gate, and with bitter reproaches pursued them: —

      "Graceless and worthless, begone! in your homes is there nothing to weep for,

      That ye in mine will harass me – or lacks it, to fill your contentment,

      That the Olympian god has assign'd to me this tribulation —

      Loss of a son without peer? But yourselves shall partake my affliction;

      Easier far will it be for the pitiless sword of the Argives,

      Now he is dead, to make havoc of you. For myself, ere I witness

      Ilion storm'd in their wrath, and the fulness of her desolation,

      Oh, may the Destiny yield me to enter the dwelling of Hades!"

      Speaking, he smote with his staff, and they fled from the wrath of the old man;

      But, when they all had disperst, he upbraided his sons and rebuked them;

      Deiphobus and Alexander, Hippothöus, generous Dius,

      Came at the call of the king, with Antiphonus, Helenus, Pammon,

      Agathon, noble of port, and Polites, good at the war-shout: —

      These were the nine that he urged and admonish'd with bitter reproaches: —

      "Hasten ye, profitless children and vile! if ye all had been slaughter'd,

      Fair were the tidings to me, were but Hector in place of ye skaithless!

      O, evil-destinied me! that had sons upon sons to sustain me,

      None to compare in the land, and not one that had worth is remaining!

      Mentor the gallant and goodly, and Tröilus prompt with the war-team;

      Hector, a god among men – he, too, who in nothing resembled

      Death-doom'd man's generation, but imaged the seed of Immortals —

      Battle