great Achilles has o’erthrown; And let him fear not death nor other harm, For we will send a guide to lead him safe, The Argus-queller, till he stand beside Achilles; and when once he comes within The warrior’s tent, Achilles will not raise His hand to slay, but will restrain the rest. Nor mad, nor rash, nor criminal is he, And will humanely spare a suppliant man.”
He spake, and Iris, the swift messenger, Whose feet are like the wind, went forth with speed, And came to Priam’s palace, where she found Sorrow and wailing. Round the father sat His sons within the hall, and steeped with tears Their garments. In the midst the aged man Sat with a cloak wrapped round him, and much dust Strewn on his head and neck, which, when he rolled Upon the earth, he gathered with his hands. His daughters and the consorts of his sons Filled with their cries the mansion, sorrowing For those, the many and brave, who now lay slain By Grecian hands. The ambassadress of Jove Stood beside Priam, and in soft, low tones, While his limbs shook with fear, addressed him thus:—