Achilles’ Funeral Recalled

4And then the soul of Agamemnon said:
“Fortunate son of Peleus, godlike chief
Achilles, who did die upon the field
Of Ilium, far from Argos, while there fell
Around you many of the bravest sons
Of Troy and Greece, who fought for you, and you
Were lying in your mighty bulk, amid
Whirlwinds of dust, forgetful evermore
Of horsemanship. All that day long we fought,
Nor stayed our hands till Zeus, to part us, sent
A hurricane. When we had borne you thence
And brought you to the fleet, upon a bier
We laid you, pouring over your shapely limbs
Warm water, and anointing them with oil.
Round you the Achaians stood in tears, hot tears,
And cut their hair away. From ocean’s depth
Your mother, when she heard the tidings, rose
With her immortal sea-nymphs. Mournfully
Came over the waves the sound of their lament.
Trembled the Greeks with fear, and, rushing forth,
Would have sought refuge in their roomy ships,
If Nestor, wise in ancient lore, and known
For counsels ever safe, had not restrained
Their haste, and thus declared his prudent thought: —

5“ ‘Stay, Argives, youths of Greece; think not of flight!
It is his mother; from the sea she comes
To her dead son, and brings her deathless nymphs.’

6“He spoke; his words withheld the valiant Greeks
From flight. And now around you came and stood
The daughters of the Ancient of the Deep,
Lamenting bitterly. Upon your corse
They put ambrosial robes. The Muses nine
Bewailed you with sweet voices, answering
Each other. Then would you have seen no one
Of all the Argive host with eyes unwet,
The Muses’ song so moved them. Seventeen days
And nights we mourned you —both the immortal ones
And mortals. On the eighteenth day we gave
Your body to the fire, and at the pile
Slew many fatling ewes, and many an ox
With crooked horns. In raiment of the gods
The fire consumed you midst anointing oils
And honey. Many heroes of our host
In armor and in chariots, or on foot,
Contended round your funeral pyre in games,
And mighty was the din. And when at length
The fires of Hephaestus had consumed your flesh,
We gathered up at morning your white bones,
Achilles, pouring over them pure wine
And fragrant oils. Your mother brought a vase
Of gold, which Dionysus gave, she said, the work
Of Hephaestus the renowned, and in it now,
Illustrious son of Peleus, your white bones
Are lying, and with yours are mingled those
Of dead Patroclus Menoetiades.
Apart we placed the ashes of your friend
Antilochus, whom you did honor most
After the slain Patroclus. Over all these
The sacred army of the warlike Greeks
Built up a tomb magnificently vast
Upon a cape of the broad Hellespont,
There to be seen, far off upon the deep,
By those who now are born, or shall be born
In future years. Your mother, having first
Prayed to the gods, appointed noble games,
Within the circus, for the Achaian chiefs.
Full often have I seen the funeral rites
Of heroes, when the youth, their chieftain dead,
Were girded for the games, and strove to win
The prizes; but I most of all admired
Those which the silver-footed Thetis gave
To mark your burial, who were loved by all
The immortals. So you have not lost by death
Your fame, Achilles, and among the tribes
Of men your glory will be ever great;
But what has it availed me to have brought
The war on Ilium to an end, since Zeus
Doomed me to be destroyed on my return,
Slain by Aegisthus and my guilty wife?”