“Rejoice, Patroclus, even in the land Of souls. Lo! I perform the vow I made; Twelve gallant sons of the brave men of Troy The fire consumes with thee. For Hector’s corse, The flames shall not devour it, but the dogs.”
Such was his threat; but Hector was not made The prey of dogs, for Venus, born to Jove, Drave off by night and day the ravenous tribe, And with a rosy and ambrosial oil Anointed him, that he might not be torn When dragged along the earth. Above the spot And all around it, where the body lay, Phoebus Apollo drew a veil of clouds Reaching from heaven, that on his limbs the flesh And sinews might not stiffen in the sun.
The flame seized not upon the funeral pile Of the dead chief. Pelides, swift of foot, Bethought him of another rite. He stood Apart, and offered vows to the two winds, Boreas and Zephyr. Promising to bring Fair offerings to their shrines, and pouring out Libations from a golden cup, he prayed That they would haste and wrap the pile in flames, And burn the dead to ashes. At his prayer Fleet Iris on a message to the Winds Took instant wing. They sat within the halls Of murmuring Zephyr, at a solemn feast. There Iris lighted on the threshold-stone. As soon as they beheld her, each arose And bade her sit beside him. She refused To seat her at the banquet, and replied:—
“Not now; for I again must take my way Over the ocean currents to the land Where dwell the Ethiopians, who adore The gods with hecatombs, to take my share Of sacrifice. Achilles supplicates, With promise of munificent offerings, Boreas and sounding Zephyrus to come And blow the funeral structure into flames On which, bewailed by all the Grecian host, Patroclus lies, and waits to be consumed.”
So spake she, and departed. Suddenly Arose the Winds with tumult, driving on The clouds before them. Soon they reached the deep; Beneath