Thetis brings to her son the armour made by Vulcan. She preserves the body of his friend from corruption, and commands him to assemble the army, to declare his resentment at an end. Agamemnon and Achilles are solemnly reconciled: the speeches, presents, and ceremonies on that occasion. Achilles is with great difficulty persuaded to refrain from the battle till the troops have refreshed themselves by the advice of Ulysses. The presents are conveyed to the tent of Achilles, where Briseïs laments over the body of Patroclus. The hero obstinately refuses all repast, and gives himself up to lamentations for his friend. Minerva descends to strengthen him, by the order of Jupiter. He arms for the fight: his appearance described. He addresses himself to his horses, and reproaches them with the death of Patroclus. One of them is miraculously endued with voice, and inspired to prophesy his fate: but the hero, not astonished by that prodigy, rushes with fury to the combat. The thirtieth day. The scene is on the sea-shore. Soon as Aurora heaved her Orient head Above the waves, that blush’d with early red, (With new-born day to gladden mortal sight, And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light,) The immortal arms the goddess-mother bears Swift to her son: her son she finds in tears Stretch’d o’er Patroclus’ corse; while all the rest Their sovereign’s sorrows in their own express’d. A ray divine her heavenly presence shed, And thus, his hand soft touching, Thetis said: “Suppress, my son, this rage of grief, and know It was not man, but heaven, that gave the blow; Behold what arms by Vulcan are bestow’d, Arms worthy thee, or fit to grace a god.” Then drops the radiant burden on the ground; Clang the strong arms, and ring the shores around; Back shrink the Myrmidons with dread surprise, And from the broad effulgence turn their eyes. Unmoved the hero kindles at the show, And feels with rage divine his bosom glow; From his fierce eyeballs living flames expire, And flash incessant like a stream of fire: He turns the radiant gift: and feeds his mind On all the immortal artist had design’d. “Goddess! (he cried,) these glorious arms, that shine With matchless art, confess the hand divine. Now to the bloody battle let me bend: But ah! the relics of my slaughter’d friend! In those wide wounds through which his spirit fled, Shall flies, and worms obscene, pollute the dead?” “That unavailing care be laid aside, (The azure goddess to her son replied,) Whole years untouch’d, uninjured shall remain, Fresh as in life, the carcase of the slain. But go, Achilles, as affairs require, Before the Grecian peers renounce thine ire: Then uncontroll’d in boundless war engage, And heaven with strength supply the mighty rage!” [Illustration: ] THETIS BRINGING THE ARMOUR TO ACHILLES