Thus as he spoke, he led them in, and plac’d On couches spread with, purple carpets o’er, Then thus address’d Patroclus at his side: “Son of Menoetius, set upon the board A larger bowl, and stronger mix the wine, And serve a cup to each: beneath my roof This night my dearest friends I entertain.” He said; Patroclus his commands obey’d; And in the fire-light plac’d an ample tray, And on it laid of goat’s flesh and of sheep’s A saddle each; and with them, rich in fat, A chine of well-fed hog; Automedon Held fast, while great Achilles carv’d the joints. The meat, prepar’d, he fix’d upon the spits: Patroclus kindled then a blazing fire; And when the fire burnt hotly, and the flame Subsided, spread the glowing embers out, And hung the spits above; then sprinkled o’er The meat with salt, and lifted from the stand. The viands cook’d and plac’d upon the board, From baskets fair Patroclus portion’d out The bread to each; the meat Achilles shar’d. Facing the sage Ulysses, sat the host On th’ other side the tent; and bade his friend, Patroclus, give the Gods their honours due: He in the fire the wonted off’rings burnt: They on the viands set before them fell. The rage of thirst and hunger satisfied, Ajax to Phoenix sign’d: Ulysses saw The sign, and rising, fill’d a cup with wine, And pledg’d Achilles thus: “To thee I drink, Achilles! nobly is thy table spread, As heretofore in Agamemnon’s tent, So now in thine; abundant is the feast: But not the pleasures of the banquet now We have in hand: impending o’er our arms Grave cause of fear, illustrious chief, we see; Grave doubts, to save, or see destroy’d our ships, If thou, great warrior, put not forth thy might. For close beside the ships and wall are camp’d The haughty Trojans and renown’d allies: Their watch-fires frequent burn throughout the camp; And loud their boast that nought shall stay their hands, Until our dark-ribb’d ships be made their prey. Jove too for them, with fav’ring augury Sends forth his lightning; boastful of his strength, And firmly trusting in the aid of Jove, Hector, resistless, rages; nought he fears Or God or man, with martial fury fir’d. He prays, impatient, for th’ approach of morn; Then, breaking through the lofty sterns, resolv’d To the devouring flames to give the ships, And slay the crews, bewilder’d in the smoke. And much my mind misgives me, lest the Gods His threats fulfil, and we be fated here To perish, far from Argos’ grassy plains. Up then! if in their last extremity Thy spirit inclines, though late, to save the Greeks Sore press’d by Trojan arms: lest thou thyself Hereafter feel remorse; the evil done Is past all cure; then thou reflect betimes How from the Greeks to ward the day of doom. Dear friend, remember now thy father’s words, The aged Peleus, when to Atreus’ son He sent thee forth from Phthia, how he said, ‘My son, the boon of strength, if so they will, Juno or Pallas have the pow’r to give; But thou thyself thy haughty spirit must curb.