Then, to crown all her griefs, yet sharper pain Fell on the heart of hapless Hecuba. Then did her soul recall that awful dream, The vision of sleep of that night overpast: Herseemed that on Achilles' tomb she stood Moaning, her hair down-streaming to the ground, And from her breasts blood dripped to earth the while, And drenched the tomb. Fear-haunted touching this, Foreboding all calamity, she wailed Piteously; far rang her wild lament. As a dog moaning at her master's door, Utters long howls, her teats with milk distent, Whose whelps, ere their eyes opened to the light, Her lords afar have flung, a prey to kites; And now with short sharp cries she plains, and now Long howling: the weird outcry thrills the air; So wailed and shrieked for her child Hecuba: "Ah me! what sorrows first or last shall I Lament heart-anguished, who am full of woes? Those unimagined ills my sons, my king Have suffered? or my city, or daughters shamed? Or my despair, my day of slavery? Oh, the grim fates have caught me in a net Of manifold ills! O child, they have spun for thee Dread weird of unimagined misery! They have thrust thee away, when near was Hymen's hymn, From thine espousals, marked thee for destruction Dark, unendurable, unspeakable! For lo, a dead man's heart, Achilles' heart, Is by our blood made warm with life to-day! O child, dear child, that I might die with thee, That earth might swallow me, ere I see thy doom!" So cried she, weeping never-ceasing tears, For grief on bitter grief encompassed her. But when these reached divine Achilles' tomb, Then did his son unsheathe the whetted sword, His left hand grasped the maid, and his right hand Was laid upon the tomb, and thus he cried: "Hear, father, thy son's prayer, hear all the prayers Of Argives, and be no more wroth with us! Lo, unto thee now all thine heart's desire Will we fulfil. Be gracious to us thou, And to our praying grant sweet home-return." Into the maid's throat then he plunged the blade Of death: the dear life straightway sobbed she forth, With the last piteous moan of parting breath. Face-downward to the earth she fell: all round Her flesh was crimsoned from her neck, as snow Stained on a mountain-side with scarlet blood Rushing, from javelin-smitten boar or bear. The maiden's corpse then gave they, to be borne Unto the city, to Antenor's home, For that, when Troy yet stood, he nurtured her In his fair halls, a bride for his own son Eurymachus. The old man buried her, King Priam's princess-child, nigh his own house, By Ganymedes' shrine, and overagainst The temple of Pallas the Unwearied One. Then were the waves stilled, and the blast was hushed To sleep, and all the sea-flood lulled to calm.