And then the crested Hector, dying, said: “I know thee, and too clearly I foresaw I should not move thee, for thou hast a heart Of iron. Yet reflect that for my sake The anger of the gods may fall on thee, When Paris and Apollo strike thee down, Strong as thou art, before the Scaean gates.” Thus Hector spake, and straightway o’er him closed The night of death; the soul forsook his limbs, And flew to Hades, grieving for its fate⁠— So soon divorced from youth and youthful might. Then said the great Achilles to the dead:⁠—

“Die thou; and I, whenever it shall please Jove and the other gods, will meet my fate.”

He spake, and, plucking forth his brazen lance, He laid it by, and from the body stripped The bloody mail. The thronging Greeks beheld With wonder Hector’s tall and stately form, And no one came who did not add a wound; And, looking to each other, thus they said:⁠—