The Works of William Cowper His life, letters, and poems, now first completed by the introduction of Cowper's private correspondence

Book xxii. line 354.

Chapter 8368 wordsPublic domain

The indignant answer of Achilles to the prayer of Hector:

Dog! neither knees nor parents name to me. I would my fierceness of revenge were such, That I could carve and eat thee, to whose arms Such griefs I owe; so true it is and sure, That none shall save thy carcass from the dogs. No. Would they bring ten ransoms by the scale, Or twice ten ransoms, and still promise more; Would Priam buy thee with thy weight in gold, Not even then should she who bare thee weep Upon thy bier; for dogs and rav'ning fowls Shall rend thy flesh, till ev'ry bone be bare.

Hector's last dying words:

I knew thee; knew that I should sue in vain, For in thy breast of steel no pity dwells. But oh, be cautious now, lest Heav'n perchance Requite thee on that day, when, pierc'd thyself By Paris and Apollo, thou shalt fall, Brave as thou art, within the Scæan gate. He ceas'd, and death involv'd him dark around. His spirit, from his limbs dismiss'd, the house Of Hades sought, deploring as she went Youth's prime and vigour lost, disastrous doom! But him, though dead, Achilles thus bespake: Die thou. My death shall find me at what hour Jove gives commandment, and the gods above.

_Ibid._ line 396.

The interview between Achilles and Priam, who comes to ransom the body of Hector:

... One I had, 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, In Achaia's fleet, and bring, myself, Ransom inestimable to thy tent. O, fear the gods! and for remembrance' sake Of thy own sire, Achilles! pity me, More hapless still; who bear what, save myself, None ever bore, thus lifting to my lips Hands dyed so deep with slaughter of my sons. So saying, he waken'd in his soul regret Of his own sire; softly he plac'd his hand On Priam's hand, and push'd him gently away. Remembrance melted both. Stretch'd prone before Achilles' feet, the king his son bewail'd, Wide-slaughtering Hector; and Achilles wept By turns his father, and by turns his friend, Patroclus; sounds of sorrow fill'd the tent.