Of course there is no further question about the body of Patroclus. It is drawn out of the press, and received by the awful hero with tears. The other passage is where Priam, kneeling before Achilles, and imploring him to give up the dead body of Hector, reminds him of his own father; who, whatever (says the poor old king) may be his troubles with his enemies, has the blessing of knowing that his son is still alive, and may daily hope to see him return. Achilles, in accordance with the strength and noble honesty of the passions in those times, weeps aloud himself at this appeal, feeling, says Homer, ‘desire’ for his father in his very ‘limbs’. He joins in grief with the venerable sufferer, and can no longer withstand the look of ‘his grey head and his grey _chin_’. Observe the exquisite introduction of this last word. It paints the touching fact of the chin’s being imploringly thrown upward by the kneeling old man, and the very motion of his beard as he speaks. So saying, Mercury vanished up to heaven: And Priam then alighted from his chariot, Leaving Idaeus with it, who remain’d Holding the mules and horses; and the old man Went straight indoors, where the belov’d of Jove Achilles sat, and found him. In the room Were others, but apart; and two alone, The hero Automedon, and Alcimus, A branch of Mars, stood by him. They had been At meals, and had not yet remov’d the board. Great Priam came, without their seeing him, And kneeling down, he clasp’d Achilles’ knees, And kiss’d those terrible, homicidal hands, Which had deprived him of so many sons. And as a man who is press’d heavily For having slain another, flies away To foreign lands, and comes into the house Of some great man, and is beheld with wonder, So did Achilles wonder to see Priam; And the rest wonder’d, looking at each other. But Priam, praying to him, spoke these words:-- ‘God-like Achilles, think of thine own father! To the same age have we both come, the same Weak pass; and though the neighbouring chiefs may vex Him also, and his borders find no help, Yet when he hears that thou art still alive, He gladdens inwardly, and daily hopes To see his dear son coming back from Troy. But I, bereav’d old Priam! I had once Brave sons in Troy, and now I cannot say That one is left me. Fifty children had I, When the Greeks came; nineteen were of one womb; The rest my women bore me in my house. The knees of many of these fierce Mars has loosen’d; And he who had no peer, Troy’s prop and theirs, Him hast thou kill’d now, fighting for his country, Hector; and for his sake am I come here To ransom him, bringing a countless ransom. But thou, Achilles, fear the gods, and think Of thine own father, and have mercy on me: For I am much more wretched, and have borne What never mortal bore, I think on earth,