“O my Patroclus, be not wroth with me Shouldst thou in Hades hear that I restore Hector to his dear father, since I take A ransom not unworthy; but of this I yield to thee the portion justly thine.”
So spake the godlike warrior, and withdrew Into his tent, and took the princely seat From which he had arisen, opposite To that of Priam, whom he thus bespake:—
“Behold thy son is ransomed, aged man, As thou hast asked, and lies upon his bier. Thou shalt behold him with the early dawn, And bear him hence. Now let us break our fast, For even Niobe, the golden-haired, Refrained not from her food, though children twelve Perished within her palace—six young sons And six fair daughters. Phoebus slew the sons With arrows from his silver bow, incensed At Niobe, while Dian, archer queen, Struck down the daughters; for the mother dared To make herself the peer of rosy-cheeked Latona, who, she boastfully proclaimed, Had borne two children only, while herself Had brought forth many. Yet, though only two, The children of Latona took the lives Of all her own. Nine days the corses lay In blood, and there was none to bury them, For Jove had changed the dwellers of the place To stone; but on the tenth the gods of heaven Gave burial to the dead. Yet Niobe, Though spent with weeping long, did not refrain From food. And now forever mid the rocks And desert hills of Sipylus, where lie, Fame says, the couches of the goddess-nymphs, Who lead the dance where Acheloüs flows, Although she be transformed to stone, she broods Over the woes inflicted by the gods. But now, O noble Ancient, let us sit At our repast, and thou mayst afterward Mourn thy beloved son, while bearing him Homeward, to be bewailed with many tears.”
Achilles, the swift-footed, spake, and left His seat, and, slaying a white sheep, he bade His comrades flay and dress it. Then they carved The flesh