Swiftly the dark-skinned Aethiops from her sight Buried their lord lamenting. As they wailed Unceasingly, the Dawn-queen lovely-eyed Changed them to birds sweeping through air around The barrow of the mighty dead. And these Still do the tribes of men "The Memnons" call; And still with wailing cries they dart and wheel Above their king's tomb, and they scatter dust Down on his grave, still shrill the battle-cry, In memory of Memnon, each to each. But he in Hades' mansions, or perchance Amid the Blessed on the Elysian Plain, Laugheth. Divine Dawn comforteth her heart Beholding them: but theirs is toil of strife Unending, till the weary victors strike The vanquished dead, or one and all fill up The measure of their doom around his grave. So by command of Eos, Lady of Light, The swift birds dree their weird. But Dawn divine Now heavenward soared with the all-fostering Hours, Who drew her to Zeus' threshold, sorely loth, Yet conquered by their gentle pleadings, such As salve the bitterest grief of broken hearts. Nor the Dawn-queen forgat her daily course, But quailed before the unbending threat of Zeus, Of whom are all things, even all comprised Within the encircling sweep of Ocean's stream, Earth and the palace-dome of burning stars. Before her went her Pleiad-harbingers, Then she herself flung wide the ethereal gates, And, scattering spray of splendour, flashed there-through. BOOK III How by the shaft of a God laid low was Hero Achilles. When shone the light of Dawn the splendour-throned, Then to the ships the Pylian spearmen bore Antilochus' corpse, sore sighing for their prince, And by the Hellespont they buried him With aching hearts. Around him groaning stood The battle-eager sons of Argives, all, Of love for Nestor, shrouded o'er with grief. But that grey hero's heart was nowise crushed By sorrow; for the wise man's soul endures Bravely, and cowers not under affliction's stroke. But Peleus' son, wroth for Antilochus His dear friend, armed for vengeance terrible Upon the Trojans. Yea, and these withal, Despite their dread of mighty Achilles' spear, Poured battle-eager forth their gates, for now The Fates with courage filled their breasts, of whom Many were doomed to Hades to descend, Whence there is no return, thrust down by hands Of Aeacus' son, who also was foredoomed To perish that same day by Priam's wall. Swift met the fronts of conflict: all the tribes Of Troy's host, and the battle-biding Greeks, Afire with that new-kindled fury of war.