stripp’d
  His arms gore-stain’d.  Meantime the other sons
  Of the Achaians, gathering fast around,
  The bulk admired, and the proportion just
  Of Hector; neither stood a Grecian there 430
  Who pierced him not, and thus the soldier spake. 
    Ye Gods! how far more patient of the touch
  Is Hector now, than when he fired the fleet! 
    Thus would they speak, then give him each a stab. 
  And now, the body stripp’d, their noble Chief 435
  The swift Achilles standing in the midst,
  The Grecians in wing’d accents thus address’d. 
    Friends, Chiefs and Senators of Argos’ host! 
  Since, by the will of heaven, this man is slain
  Who harm’d us more than all our foes beside, 440
  Essay we next the city, so to learn
  The Trojan purpose, whether (Hector slain)
  They will forsake the citadel, or still
  Defend it, even though of him deprived. 
  But wherefore speak I thus? still undeplored, 445
  Unburied in my fleet Patroclus lies;
  Him never, while alive myself, I mix
  With living men and move, will I forget. 
  In Ades, haply, they forget the dead,
  Yet will not I Patroclus, even there. 450
  Now chanting paeans, ye Achaian youths! 
  Return we to the fleet with this our prize;
  We have achieved great glory,[14] we have slain
  Illustrious Hector, him whom Ilium praised
  In all her gates, and as a God revered. 455
    He said; then purposing dishonor foul
  To noble Hector, both his feet he bored
  From heel to ancle, and, inserting thongs,
  Them tied behind his chariot, but his head
  Left unsustain’d to trail along the ground. 460
  Ascending next, the armor at his side
  He placed, then lash’d the steeds; they willing flew
  Thick dust around the body dragg’d arose,
  His sable locks all swept the plain, and all
  His head, so graceful once, now track’d the dust, 465
  For Jove had given it into hostile hands
  That they might shame it in his native soil.[15]
  Thus, whelm’d in dust, it went.  The mother Queen
  Her son beholding, pluck’d her hair away,
  Cast far aside her lucid veil, and fill’d 470
  With shrieks the air.  His father wept aloud,
  And, all around, long, long complaints were heard
  And lamentations in the streets of Troy,
  Not fewer or less piercing, than if flames
  Had wrapt all Ilium to her topmost towers. 475
  His people scarce detain’d the ancient King
  Grief-stung, and resolute to issue forth
  Through the Dardanian gates; to all he kneel’d
  In turn, then roll’d himself in dust, and each
  By name solicited to give him way. 480
    Stand off, my fellow mourners!  I would pass