Unseen of all huge Priam enter’d, stood
  Near to Achilles, clasp’d his knees, and kiss’d 600
  Those terrible and homicidal hands
  That had destroy’d so many of his sons. 
  As when a fugitive for blood the house
  Of some chief enters in a foreign land,
  All gaze, astonish’d at the sudden guest, 605
  So gazed Achilles seeing Priam there,
  And so stood all astonish’d, each his eyes
  In silence fastening on his fellow’s face. 
  But Priam kneel’d, and suppliant thus began. 
    Think, oh Achilles, semblance of the Gods! 610
  On thy own father full of days like me,
  And trembling on the gloomy verge of life.[12]
  Some neighbor chief, it may be, even now
  Oppresses him, and there is none at hand,
  No friend to suocor him in his distress. 615
  Yet, doubtless, hearing that Achilles lives,
  He still rejoices, hoping, day by day,
  That one day he shall see the face again
  Of his own son from distant Troy return’d. 
  But me no comfort cheers, whose bravest sons, 620
  So late the flower of Ilium, all are slain. 
  When Greece came hither, I had fifty sons;
  Nineteen were children of one bed, the rest
  Born of my concubines.  A numerous house! 
  But fiery Mars hath thinn’d it.  One I had, 625
  One, more than all my sons the strength of Troy,
  Whom standing for his country thou hast slain—­
  Hector—­his body to redeem I come
  Into Achaia’s fleet, bringing, myself,
  Ransom inestimable to thy tent. 630
  Reverence the Gods, Achilles! recollect
  Thy father; for his sake compassion show
  To me more pitiable still, who draw
  Home to my lips (humiliation yet
  Unseen on earth) his hand who slew my son. 635
    So saying, he waken’d in his soul regret
  Of his own sire; softly he placed his hand
  On Priam’s hand, and push’d him gently away. 
  Remembrance melted both.  Rolling before
  Achilles’ feet, Priam his son deplored 640
  Wide-slaughtering Hector, and Achilles wept
  By turns his father, and by turns his friend
  Patroclus; sounds of sorrow fill’d the tent. 
  But when, at length satiate, Achilles felt
  His heart from grief, and all his frame relieved, 645
  Upstarting from his seat, with pity moved
  Of Priam’s silver locks and silver beard,
  He raised the ancient father by his hand,
  Whom in wing’d accents kind he thus bespake. 
    Wretched indeed! ah what must thou have felt! 650
  How hast thou dared to seek alone the fleet
  Of the Achaians, and his face by whom
  So many of thy valiant sons have fallen? 
  Thou hast a heart of iron, terror-proof. 
  Come—­sit beside me—­let us, if we may, 665