Weeping she spake: the mighty throng again Answered with wailing. Priam then addressed The people: “Now bring wood, ye men of Troy, Into the city. Let there be no fear Of ambush from the Greeks, for when of late I left Achilles at the dark-hulled barques, He gave his promise to molest no more The men of Troy till the twelfth morn shall rise.”
He spake, and speedily they yoked the mules And oxen to the wains, and came in throngs Before the city walls. Nine days they toiled To bring the trunks of trees, and when the tenth Arose to light the abodes of men, they brought The corse of valiant Hector from the town With many tears, and laid it on the wood High up, and flung the fire to light the pile.
Now when the early rosy-fingered Dawn Looked forth, the people gathered round the pile Of glorious Hector. When they all had come Together, first they quenched the funeral fires, Wherever they had spread, with dark-red wine, And then his brothers and companions searched For the white bones. In sorrow and in tears, That streaming stained their cheeks, they gathered them, And placed them in a golden um. O’er this They drew a covering of soft purple robes, And laid it in a hollow grave, and piled Fragments of rock above it, many and huge. In haste they reared the tomb, with sentries set On every side, lest all too soon the Greeks Should come in armor to renew the war. When now the tomb was built, the multitude Returned, and in the halls where Priam dwelt, Nursling of Jove, were feasted royally. Such was the mighty Hector’s burial rite.