Glad was she then: fear flitted from her heart, And came sweet hope that her lord's wrath was dead. She cast her arms around him, and their eyes With tears were brimming as they made sweet moan; And side by side they laid them, and their hearts Thrilled with remembrance of old spousal joy. And as a vine and ivy entwine their stems Each around other, that no might of wind Avails to sever them, so clung these twain Twined in the passionate embrace of love. When came on these too sorrow-drowning sleep, Even then above his son's head rose and stood Godlike Achilles' mighty shade, in form As when he lived, the Trojans' bane, the joy Of Greeks, and kissed his neck and flashing eyes Lovingly, and spake comfortable words: "All hail, my son! Vex not thine heart with grief For thy dead sire; for with the Blessed Gods Now at the feast I sit. Refrain thy soul From sorrow, and plant my strength within thy mind. Be foremost of the Argives ever; yield To none in valour, but in council bow Before thine elders: so shall all acclaim Thy courtesy. Honour princely men and wise; For the true man is still the true man's friend, Even as the vile man cleaveth to the knave. If good thy thought be, good shall be thy deeds: But no man shall attain to Honour's height, Except his heart be right within: her stem Is hard to climb, and high in heaven spread Her branches: only they whom strength and toil Attend, strain up to pluck her blissful fruit, Climbing the Tree of Honour glow-crowned. Thou therefore follow fame, and let thy soul Be not in sorrow afflicted overmuch, Nor in prosperity over-glad. To friends, To comrades, child and wife, be kindly of heart, Remembering still that near to all men stand The gates of doom, the mansions of the dead: For humankind are like the flower of grass, The blossom of spring; these fade the while those bloom: Therefore be ever kindly with thy kind. Now to the Argives say--to Atreus' son Agamemnon chiefly--if my battle-toil Round Priam's walls, and those sea-raids I led Or ever I set foot on Trojan land, Be in their hearts remembered, to my tomb Be Priam's daughter Polyxeina led-- Whom as my portion of the spoil I claim-- And sacrificed thereon: else shall my wrath Against them more than for Briseis burn. The waves of the great deep will I turmoil To bar their way, upstirring storm on storm, That through their own mad folly pining away Here they may linger long, until to me They pour drink-offerings, yearning sore for home. But, when they have slain the maiden, I grudge not That whoso will may bury her far from me." Then as a wind-breath swift he fleeted thence, And came to the Elysian Plain, whereto A path to heaven reacheth, for the feet Ascending and descending of the Blest. Then the son started up from sleep, and called His sire to mind, and glowed the heart in him.