And thou return to Phthia and bring home My son from Scyros in thy ship, and show The youth my wealth, my servants, and my halls, High-roofed and spacious. For my mind misgives That Peleus either lives not, or endures A painful age, and hardly lives, yet waits To hear the sorrowful news that I am slain.”
So spake he weeping, and the elders sighed To see his tears, as each recalled to mind Those whom he left at home, while Saturn’s son Beheld their grief with pity, and bespake His daughter Pallas thus with wingèd words:—
“My child, wilt thou desert that valiant man? And shall Achilles be no more thy care? Lo, by his ships, before their lofty prows, He sits, lamenting his beloved friend. The rest are at the banquet; he remains Apart from them, and fasting. Hasten thou; With nectar and ambrosial sweets refresh His frame, that hunger overtake him not.”
As thus he spake he sent the goddess forth Eager to do her errand. Plunging down, In form a shrill-voiced harpy with broad wings, She cleft the air. The Greeks throughout the camp Were putting on their armor. She infused Into the hero’s frame ambrosial sweets And nectar, that his limbs might not grow faint With hunger. Then the goddess sought again The stable mansion of Almighty Jove, While all the Greeks came pouring from the fleet.
As when the flakes of snow fall thick from heaven, Driven by the north wind sweeping on the clouds Before it, so from out the galleys came Helms crowding upon helms that glittered fair, Strong hauberks, bossy shields, and ashen spears. The gleam of armor brightened heaven and earth, And mighty was the sound of trampling feet. Amidst them all the great Achilles stood, Putting his armor on; he gnashed his teeth; His eyes shot fire; a grief too sharp to bear Was in his heart, as, filled with rage against The men of Troy, he cased his limbs in mail, The gift of Vulcan,