Book XXIV - Not so Achilles, to grief resigned

Not so Achilles: he, to grief resigned,

His friend's dear image present to his mind,

Takes his sad couch, more unobserved to weep,

Nor tastes the gifts of all-composing sleep;

Restless he rolled around his weary bed,

And all his soul on his Patroclus fed:

The form so pleasing, and the heart so kind,

That youthful vigour, and that manly mind,

What toils they shared, what martial works they wrought,

What seas they measured, and what fields they fought;

All passed before him in remembrance dear,

Thought follows thought, and tear succeeds to tear.

And now supine, now prone, the hero lay,

Now shifts his side, impatient for the day;

Then starting up, disconsolate he goes

Wide on the lonely beach to vent his woes,

There as the solitary mourner raves,

The ruddy morning rises o'er the waves:

Soon as it rose, his furious steeds he joined;

The chariot flies, and Hector trails behind.

And thrice, Patroclus! round thy monument

Was Hector dragged, then hurried to the tent.

There sleep at last o'ercomes the hero's eyes;

While foul in dust the unhonoured carcass lies,

But not deserted by the pitying skies;

For Phœbus watched it with superior care,

Preserved from gaping wounds, and tainting air;

And, ignominious as it swept the field,

Spread o'er the sacred corse his golden shield.