And, as a God, shall honour him with gifts, And to his sceptre ample tribute pay. This will I do, so he his wrath remit: Then let him yield (Pluto alone remains Unbending and inexorable; and thence Of all the Gods is most abhorr’d of men), To me submitting, as in royal pow’r Superior far, and more advanc’d in age.” To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied: “Most mighty Agamemnon, King of men, Atrides, not unworthy are the gifts, Which to Achilles thou design’st to send: Then to the tent of Peleus’ son in haste Let us our chosen messengers despatch: Whom I shall choose, let them consent to go. Then first of all let Phoenix lead the way, Beloved of Jove; the mighty Ajax next: With them, Ulysses sage; and let them take, Of heralds, Hodius and Eurybates. Bring now the hallowing water for our hands; And bid be silent, while to Saturn’s son, That he have mercy, we address our pray’r.” He said, and well his counsel pleas’d them all; The heralds pour’d the water on their hands; The youths, attending, crown’d the bowls with wine, And in due order serv’d the cups to all. Then, their libations made, when each with wine Had satisfied his soul, from out the tent Of Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, they pass’d; And many a caution aged Nestor gave, With rapid glance to each, Ulysses chief, How best to soften Peleus’ matchless son. Beside the many-dashing ocean’s shore They mov’d along; and many a pray’r address’d To Neptune, Ocean’s Earth-surrounding God, That he to gentle counsels would incline The haughty soul of great Æacides. When to the ships and tents they came, where lay The warlike Myrmidons, their chief they found His spirit soothing with a sweet-ton’d lyre, Of curious work, with silver band adorn’d; Part of the spoil he took, when he destroy’d Eetion’s wealthy town; on this he play’d, Soothing his soul, and sang of warriors’ deeds. Before the chief, in silence and alone Patroclus sat, upon Achilles fix’d His eyes, awaiting till the song should cease. The envoys forward stepp’d, Ulysses first, And stood before him; from his couch, amaz’d, And holding still his lyre, Achilles sprang, Leaving the seat whereon they found him plac’d; And at their entrance rose Patroclus too: Waving his hand, Achilles, swift of foot, Addressed them: “Welcome, friends! as friends ye come: Some great occasion surely to my tent Hath brought the men who are, of all the Greeks, Despite my anger, dearest to my heart.”