The great achievement of Achilles was followed by funeral games in honor of Patroclus, and by the institution of various other festivities. At their close Jupiter sends The'tis to Achilles to influence him to restore the dead body of Hector to his family, and sends Iris to Priam to encourage him to go in person to treat for it. Priam thereupon sets out upon his journey, and, having arrived at the camp of Achilles, thus appeals to his compassion: Priam Begging for the Body of Hector. "Think, O Achilles, semblance of the gods, On thine own father, full of days like me, And trembling on the gloomy verge of life. Some neighbor chief, it may be, even now Oppresses him, and there is none at hand, No friend, to succor him in his distress. 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 returned. But me no comfort cheers, whose bravest sons, So late the flowers of Ilium, are all slain. "When, Greece came hither I had fifty sons; But fiery Mars hath thinned them. 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 Into Achaia's fleet, bringing, myself, Ransom inestimable to thy tent. Rev'rence 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!" --COWPER'S Trans. Achilles, moved with compassion, granted the request of the grief-stricken father, and sent him home with the body of his son. First to the corse the weeping Androm'ache flew, and thus spoke: Lamentation of Andromache. "And oh, my Hector! Oh, my lord! (she cries) Snatched in thy bloom from these desiring eyes! Thou to the dismal realms forever gone! And I abandoned, desolate, alone! An only son, once comfort of our pains, Sad product now of hapless love, remains! Never to manly age that son shall rise, Or with increasing graces glad my eyes; For Ilion now (her great defender slain) Shall sink a smoking ruin on the plain. "Who now protects her wives with guardian care? Who saves her infants from the rage of war? Now hostile fleets must waft those infants o'er (Those wives must wait them) to a foreign shore: Thou too, my son, to barbarous climes shalt go, The sad companion of thy mother's woe; Or else some Greek whose father pressed the plain, Or son, or brother, by great Hector slain, In Hector's blood his vengeance shall enjoy, And hurl thee headlong from the towers of Troy." [Footnote: Such was the fate of Astyanax, Hector's son, when Troy was taken: "Here, from the tower by stem Ulysses thrown, Andromache bewailed her infant son." --MERRICK'S Tryphiodo'rus.]