He spake, and with heroic purpose turned Toward Ilium. As a steed that wins the race Flies at his utmost speed across the plain, And whirls along the chariot, with such speed The son of Peleus moved his rapid feet.
The aged monarch Priam was the first To see him as he scoured the plain, and shone Like to the star which in the autumn time Rises and glows among the lights of heaven With eminent lustre at the dead of night— Orion’s Hound they call it—bright indeed, And yet of baleful omen, for it brings Distressing heat to miserable men. So shone the brass upon the warrior’s breast As on he flew. The aged Priam groaned, And smote his head with lifted hands, and called Aloud, imploring his beloved son, Who eagerly before the city gate Waited his foe Achilles. Priam thus, With outstretched hands, besought him piteously:—
“O wait not, Hector, my beloved son, To combat with Pelides, thus alone And far from succor, lest thou meet thy death, Slain by his hand, for he is mightier far Than thou art. Would that he, the cruel one, Were but as much the favorite of the gods As he is mine! Then should the birds of prey And dogs devour his carcass, and the grief That weighs upon my spirit would depart. I have been robbed by him of many sons— Brave youths, whom he has slain or sold as slaves In distant isles; and now I see no more Among our host on whom the gates are closed My Polydorus and Lycaon, whom The peerless dame Laothoe bore to me. If yet they are within the Grecian camp, I will redeem their lives with brass and gold; For I have store, which Altes, the renowned And aged, gave his daughter. If they live No longer, but have passed to the abode Of Hades, bitter will our sorrow be— Mine and their mother’s—but the popular grief Will sooner be consoled if thou fall not, Slain by Achilles. Come within the walls, My son, that thou mayst still be the defence Of Ilium’s sons and daughters, nor increase The glory of Pelides with the loss Of thine own life. Have pity upon me, Who only live to suffer—whom the son Of Saturn, on the threshold of my age, Hath destined to endure a thousand griefs, And then to be destroyed—to see my sons Slain by the