Burial to noble Hector, by an act 825
  So generous, O Achilles! me thou shalt
  Much gratify; for we are shut, thou know’st,
  In Ilium close, and fuel must procure
  From Ida’s side remote; fear, too, hath seized
  On all our people.  Therefore thus I say. 830
  Nine days we wish to mourn him in the house;
  To his interment we would give the tenth,
  And to the public banquet; the eleventh
  Shall see us build his tomb; and on the twelfth
  (If war we must) we will to war again. 835
    To whom Achilles, matchless in the race. 
  So be it, ancient Priam!  I will curb
  Twelve days the rage of war, at thy desire.[16]
    He spake, and at his wrist the right hand grasp’d
  Of the old sovereign, to dispel his fear. 840
  Then in the vestibule the herald slept
  And Priam, prudent both, but Peleus’ son
  In the interior tent, and at his side
  Briseis, with transcendent beauty adorn’d. 
    Now all, all night, by gentle sleep subdued, 845
  Both Gods and chariot-ruling warriors lay,
  But not the benefactor of mankind,
  Hermes; him sleep seized not, but deep he mused
  How likeliest from amid the Grecian fleet
  He might deliver by the guard unseen 850
  The King of Ilium; at his head he stood
  In vision, and the senior thus bespake. 
    Ah heedless and secure! hast thou no dread
  Of mischief, ancient King, that thus by foes
  Thou sleep’st surrounded, lull’d by the consent 855
  And sufferance of Achilles?  Thou hast given
  Much for redemption of thy darling son,
  But thrice that sum thy sons who still survive
  Must give to Agamemnon and the Greeks
  For thy redemption, should they know thee here. 860
    He ended; at the sound alarm’d upsprang
  The King, and roused his herald.  Hermes yoked
  Himself both mules and steeds, and through the camp
  Drove them incontinent, by all unseen. 
    Soon as the windings of the stream they reach’d, 865
  Deep-eddied Xanthus, progeny of Jove,
  Mercury the Olympian summit sought,
  And saffron-vested morn o’erspread the earth. 
  They, loud lamenting, to the city drove
  Their steeds; the mules close follow’d with the dead. 870
  Nor warrior yet, nor cinctured matron knew
  Of all in Ilium aught of their approach,
  Cassandra sole except.  She, beautiful
  As golden Venus, mounted on the height
  Of Pergamus, her father first discern’d, 875
  Borne on his chariot-seat erect, and knew: 
  The herald heard so oft in echoing Troy;
  Him also on his bier outstretch’d she mark’d,
  Whom the mules drew.  Then, shrieking, through the streets
  She ran of Troy, and loud proclaim’d