"Now, I trust, renown'd Achilles, honour'd of the highest King,
Fame and glory to the vessels of the Argives shall we bring,
Having slain this valiant Hector, strong in battle though he be;
For he cannot longer 'scape us, and he may not further flee,
Though the Archer-god, Apollo, e'er so earnestly entreat,
Begging respite for his minion, at the Ægis-bearer's feet.

Meanwhile, stand thou still and breathe thee; I will urge him to remain,
And to fight the battle with thee singly on this pitched plain."

Thus Minerva. He obey'd her, and a joyful man was he,
Leaning on his spear so deadly, shapen of the ashen tree.
So the Goddess parted from him, and to Hector near she drew,
Like Deiphobus in person, and she spoke his accents too;

Thus disguised, she hasten'd onwards, and accosted thus the other :

"Sorely by the swift Achilles art thou press'd, beloved brother ;

I have seen him swiftly chase thee our ancestral city round;

Now, then, let us stand and face him-bravely shall we keep our ground."

Out then answer'd helmed Hector:-" Welcome thou, my trusty frere, Over all the sons of Priam, ever held I thee most dear;

But this day thy bold endeavour far exceeds thy first renown,

Since thou comest forth to help me, whilst the others keep the town."

Answer'd back the blue-eyed Goddess :-"True it is, my valiant brother, Long our father did implore me, long our venerable mother,

Each by turns my knees embracing, and our old companions pray'd
That I would not leave the city--he hath made them so afraid;

But my soul was heavy-laden, and I could not stay within.

Now, then, while our hearts are ardent, let the battle straight begin :
We have spears, and we can use them-let us try this Grecian's power;
Whether two of us shall perish, brothers, in the self-same hour,
Whether he shall bear our armour bloody-dripping to the fleet,
Or, o'er-master'd by thy prowess, fall a corpse before thy feet."

Thus she spoke, the guileful Goddess, and she led the hero on.
Now, when they were near each other, pausing ere the fight begun,
Hector of the crested helmet thus accosted Peleus' son:-

"I have shunned thee, thou Pelides! now I shall no longer shun :
Thrice round Priam's spacious city have I fled, nor dared to wait
For thy coming; now I face thee, for my heart again is great,
And it urges me against thee, to be slain, or else to slay!
Take we then the Gods to witness, none so excellent as they,
If my vows to Jove shall prosper-if thou fallest-hear me swear,
Basely will I not entreat thee, no dishonour shalt thou bear;
I will take thine armour only, but thy body will bestow
On the Greeks; and thou, Achilles, also swear to use me so."

Then the swift Achilles answer'd, and a furious man was he :-
"Hector! miscreant! do not look for covenant 'twixt thee and me.
Men will never treat with lions, wolves will never league with sheep,
For their hostile kind forbids them-each their adverse nature keep;
So, apart from all alliance, thou and I must ever stand,
Until one shall fall a victim unto Mars, the bloody-hand.
Now be mindful of thy valour-thou hast cause for it indeed!
Show thyself a skilful spearman, and a sworder good at need :
Flying shall not longer serve thee-Pallas smites thee by my spear:
Thou shalt render rich atonement for my many comrades dear,
Whom thy wrath and deadly anger to the gloomy shades have sent !"

Speaking thus, his lance he brandish'd, launching it with fell intent;
But the wary Hector watch'd it coming, with a practised eye-

Down he stoop'd before it reach'd him, and the brazen death pass'd by;
Deep in earth it stuck, and quiver'd: but Minerva cam
ame behind,
All unseen by princely Hector, and restored it to her friend.
Then the Trojan chief exulting, thus to stern Pelides cried :-

"Thou hast miss'd thy mark, Achilles! lo, thy lance hath turn'd aside! And thou saidst that Jove deliver'd thus his counsel to thy view? Man! I hold thee for a prater, and a vain dissembler too!

Think not that thy words shall scare me-neither them nor thee I fear!
Not into my back inglorious shalt thou ever thrust thy spear;

Through my bosom, onwards rushing-if, indeed, the powers divine
So have destin'd-must thou strike it: now, do thou take heed of mine!
Would 'twere buried in thy body! for, of all the plagues of war
That have scourged the hapless Trojans, thou hast been the fellest far!"

Speaking thus, his lance he brandish'd; fast the enormous weapon came, Struck the target of Pelides in the midst, so true the aim;

Yet it pierced not, but rebounded. Then was Hector sore cast down,
That so uselessly and rashly was his trusty weapon thrown.

Sore dejected stood the hero-keenly glanced he round the field;
For Deiphobus he shouted, warrior of the stainless shield,
His long lance in haste demanding: no Deiphobus replied.
Then he knew himself forsaken, knew the cruel fraud, and cried,-

"Woe is me! my death is surely by the hostile Gods decreed, For I thought the warrior by me was Deiphobus indeed.

He, alas! is in the city. Thou, Minerva, didst deceive me.
Evil death no longer tarries, but is ready to receive me;

Neither can I flee before it. Long must this have been foreknown

Unto Jupiter, and destined by himself, and by his son

Phoebus, launcher of the arrows-he whom once I thought my friend-
He who shelter'd me in battle. Well! at last I know my end-
Now for what remains! Ignobly Hector will not yield his breath,
But my name shall live in glory, honour'd even after death!"

Thus he spoke, and from its scabbard drew the falchion by his side.
Rushing onwards-as an eagle stooping from its place of pride,
Downward darting on the meadow, cleaves the hot and heavy air,
Aiming at a tender lambkin, or, perchance, a timorous hare,-
So brave Hector onwards bounded, brandishing his sword on high;
And Achilles rush'd to meet him-wrath was in his soul and eye:
That strange shield, so fairly fashion'd, spread before his ample breast,
And his four-coned helmet nodded, and the wavy golden crest,
Which Hephaistus' hand had moulded, quiver'd as he rush'd to war.
As when all is hush'd and darkling, Hesperus, the fairest star
Shines among the other planets, so the point of that sharp spear
In the right hand of Achilles, seem'd to flash, as, drawing near,

Hector's frame his eyes ran over, seeking where he best might wound him:
But the polish'd brazen armour of the dead Patroclus bound him,
All except one little rivet, where the neck and throat were bare;
Any wound on that is fatal-and Achilles smote him there.
Through the neck the weapon glided, for the deadly aim was true,
Yet the brazen spear so heavy did not cut the windpipe through,
And the power of speech was left him, while he yet survived the blow;
Prone he fell, and thus Achilles triumph'd o'er his fallen foe :-

"So thou thoughtest, haughty Hector, when thou didst Patroclus slay,
That no vengeance should o'ertake thee, and that I was far away!
Fool! a stronger far was lying at the hollow ships that day-
An avenger-who hath made thee his dear blood with thine repay:
I was left, and I have smote thee. To the ravenous hounds
Art thou destined, whilst thy victim shall receive the funeral

Him thus answer'd helmed Hector, and his words were faint and slow,"By thy soul, thy knees, thy parents-let them not entreat me so! Suffer not the dors to rend me by the vessels on the shore, But accept the gold and treasure sent to thee in ample store By my father and my mother. O, give back my body, then, That the funeral rites may grace it, offered by my countrymen !"

Then the swift Achilles, sternly glancing, answer'd him again :
"Speak not of my knees or parents-dog! thou dost implore in vain ;
For I would my rage and hatred could so far transport me on,
That I might myself devour thee, for the murders thou hast done:
Therefore know that from thy carcase none shall drive the dogs away-
Not although thy wretched parents ten and twenty ransoms pay,
And should promise others also-not though Dardan Priam brought
Gold enough to weigh thee over, shall thy worthless corpse be bought :
Never shall thy aged mother, of her eldest hope bereft,
Mourn above thee-to the mercies of the dog and vulture left!"

Then the helmed Hector, dying, once again essay'd to speak:-
"'Tis but what my heart foretold me of thy nature, ruthless Greek!
Vain, indeed, is my entreaty, for thou hast an iron heart.
Yet, bethink thee for a moment, lest the Gods should take my part,
When Apollo and my brother Paris shall avenge my fate,
Stretching thee, thou mighty warrior, dead before the Scoan gate!"

Scarcely had the hero spoken, ere his eyes were fix'd in death,
And his soul, the body leaving, glided to the shades beneath;
Its hard fate lamenting sorely, from so fair a mansion fled :
And the noble chief, Achilies, spoke again above the dead.

"Meanwhile, die thou! I am ready, when 'tis Jove's eternal will, And the other heavenly deities, their appointment to fulfil." This he said, and tore the weapon from the body where it lay, Flung it down, and stooping o'er him, rent the bloody spoils away: And the other Grecian warriors crowded round the fatal place, Hector's noble form admiring, and his bold and manly face; Yet so bitter was their hatred, that they gash'd the senseless dead; And each soldier that beheld him, turning to his neighbour, said, "By the Gods! 'tis easier matter now to handle Hector's frame, Than when we beheld him flinging on the ships devouring flame." So the standers-by exulted, and again did each one wound him; Then Achilles, having spoil'd him, spoke unto his friends around him :

"Friends and princes of the Argives! since the Gods have, by my arm, Slain this man, who, most of any, drove us back, and work'd us harm, Let us hasten,-round the city let our arm'd battalions move, So we'll try the Trojans' mettle, and their further purpose proveWhether they will leave the city, or their lofty towers retain ; Broken-hearted are they surely, since their chief defence is slain. Out, alas! I blame my folly that such words should pass my lips, Unlamented and unburied lies Patroclus near the ships;

He whom I have loved so dearly, and whom I shall ever love

Whilst I dwell amongst the living, whilst my limbs have power to move. Even in Orcus, though the spirits, ere they enter, leave behind

All the memories of their being, shall I recognise my friend.

Come, then, children of the Argives! raise on high the triumph song;
To our vessels let us hasten, bearing this dead corpse along.
Mighty glory have we gotten,-Hector's self hath bit the sod,
Whom the Trojans, through the city, honour'd even as a god!"

Thus he spoke, and took a vengeance most unworthy of his kind-
Both the feet of Hector piercing, where the tendons meet behind

From the heel into the instep, leathern thongs therein he thrust,
Bound them to the chariot, leaving the brave head to trail in dust.
Then within the chariot vaulting, lifted up the arms to view,
Lash'd his horses to the gallop, and right eagerly they flew ;
And the dust arose from Hector, and his hair was shaken round,
And his head, so fair and graceful, smote the earth at every bound:
For that hour was granted to them, by almighty Jove's command,
That his enemies might triumph o'er him in his fatherland.
Thus his head with dust was loaded. Then his mother rent her hair,
And she threw her veil far from her, and she shrieked to see him there:
And his well-beloved father-O, to hear him groan was pity!
And the cry of lamentation rose throughout the peopled city.
'Twas most like that dismal wailing-as if Ilion's ancient wall
Were from its foundation blazing, and the flames were circling all.
Scarcely could the sorrowing people in the town their king detain,
For he strove, with frantic passion, forth to rush and cross the plain;
Like a suppliant he implored them-he, their honour'd king and sire-
And each man by name entreated, grov'lling in the filthy mire :-

"O, my friends! stand back I pray you, and permit me all alone
From the city gates to issue, and towards the vessels run,
That I may entreat this warrior to forego his dreadful rage:
Haply he my years may honour, and have reverence for my age-
Such as I am is his father, who hath brought him up to be
Such a ruin to the Trojans, and a cruel scourge to me.
His death-dealing sword hath robbed me ere to-day of many a son
Whom I mourn'd, but not so deeply as I mourn this latest one.
Sorrow shortly will consume me, I shall die for Hector's death!
Had he perish'd on my bosom, had I felt his latest breath,
Then his most unhappy mother might have ta'en her fill of weeping,
And our tears together mingled, watch beside his body keeping."

Thus he cried, and all the people groan'd to hear the wretched man ; And, amidst the Trojan women, Hecuba her wail began :—

"O, my son! why live I longer, when thy precious life is lost? Dead art thou that, through the city, wert my glory and my boast, And the darling of the Trojans, who revered thee as their own! Hadst thou been a god, their reverence could not have been greater shown; And they well might joy to see thee, for thou wert their very breath,Lifeless now thou liest, my Hector, in the leaden hands of death."

Thus old Hecuba lamented; but the wife of Hector knew
Nothing of this great disaster-none had brought her tidings true
How her spouse had rashly tarried all without the city gate.
Weaving of a costly garment, in an inner room she sate,
With a varied wreath of blossoms broidering the double border;
And unto the fair-hair'd maidens of her household gave she order
On the fire to place a tripod, and to make the fuel burn,
For a welcome bath for Hector, when from fight he should return.
Hapless woman! and she knew not that from all these comforts far,
Blue-eyed Pallas had subdued him, by Achilles, first in war;
But she heard the voice of weeping from the turrets, and the wail
And the cry of lamentation; then her limbs began to fail,
And she shook with dread all over, dropp'd the shuttle on the ground,
And bespoke her fair-hair'd maidens, as they stood in order round :--

"Two of ye make haste and follow-what may all this tumult mean? Sure that cry of bitter anguish came from Hecuba the queen. Wildly leaps my heart within me, and my limbs are faint and bending, Much I fear some dire misfortune over Priam's sons impending : Would to heaven my words were folly; yet my terror I must own, Lest Achilles, having hasted 'twixt my Hector and the town,

O'er the open plain hath chased him, all alone and sore distress'd-
Lest his hot and fiery valour should at last be laid to rest;
For, amidst the throng of warriors, never yet made Hector one,
Onwards still he rushed before them, yielding in his pride to none."

Thus she spoke, and, like a Manad, frantic through the halls she flew,
Wildly beat her heart within her; and her maidens follow'd too.
Oh! but when she reach'd the turret, and the crowd were forced aside,
How she gazed! and, oh! how dreadful was the sight she there espied!—
Hector dragg'd before the city; and the steeds, with hasty tramp,
Hurling him, in foul dishonour, to the sea-beat Grecian camp.
Darkness fell upon her vision-darkness like the mist of death-
Nerveless sank her limbs beneath her, and her bosom ceased to breathe.
All the ornamental tissue dropped from her wild streaming hair,
Both the garland, and the fillet, and the veil so wondrous fair,
Which the golden Venus gave her on that well-remember'd day,
When the battle-hasting Hector led her as his bride away
From the palace of Aëtion,-noble marriage-gifts were they!
Thronging round her came her sisters, and her kindred held her fast,
For she call'd on death to free her, ere that frantic fit was past.
When the agony was over, and her mind again had found her,
Thus she falter'd, deeply sobbing, to the Trojan matrons round her :—

"O, my Hector! me unhappy! equal destinies were ours;
Born, alas! to equal fortunes,-thou in Priam's ancient towers,
I in Thebes, Aëtion's dwelling in the woody Poplacus.
Hapless father! hapless daughter! better had it been for us
That he never had begot me,-doomed to evil from my birth.
Thou art gone to Hades, husband, far below the caves of earth,
And thou leavest me a widow, in thy empty halls to mourn,
And thy son an orphan infant,-better had he ne'er been born!
Thou wilt never help him, Hector-thou canst never cheer thy boy;
Nor can he unto his father be a comfort and a joy!

Even though this war that wastes us pass away and harm him not,
Toil and sorrow, never ending, still must be his future lot.
Others will remove his land-marks, and will take his fields away,
Neither friend nor comrade left him, by this orphan-making day;
And he looks so sad already, and his cheeks are wet with tears!
Then the boy in want shall wander to his father's old compeers,
Grasping by the cloak one warrior, and another by the vest ;-
Then, perhaps, some one amongst them, less forgetful than the rest,
Shall bestow a cup upon him-yet that cup shall be so small,
That his lips will scarce be moisten'd, nor his thirst assuaged at all:
Then shall some one, bless'd with parents, thrust him rudely from the hall,
Loading him with blows and scorning, which perforce the boy must bear-
Saying, Get thee gone, thou beggar! lo, thy father feasts not here!'
Weeping at this harsh denial, back shall he return to me-
He, Astyanax, the infant, who, upon his father's knee,

Feasted on the richest marrow, and the daintiest meats that be;
Who, when slumber fell upon him, and his childish crying ceased,
Went to sleep in ease and plenty, cradled on his nurse's breast.
Now, Astyanax-the Trojans by that name the infant call;
Since 'twas thou, my Hector, only that didst keep the gates and wall—
Many a wrong shall feel and suffer, since his father is no more.
Now the creeping worm shall waste thee-lying naked on the shore,
Neither friend nor parent near thee-when the dogs have ta'en their fill.
Naked!-and thy graceful garments lie within thy palace still;
These, the skilful work of women, all to ashes I will burn,
For thou never more shalt wear them, and thou never canst return;
Yet the Trojans will revere them, relics of their chief so true!"—
Thus she spoke in tears, and round her all the women sorrowed too.