He said; his words the gen’ral grief arous’d: To them, as round the piteous dead they mourn’d, Appear’d the rosy-finger’d morn; and straight, From all the camp, by Agamemnon sent, Went forth, in search of fuel, men and mules, Led by a valiant chief, Meriones, The follower of renown’d Idomeneus. Their felling axes in their hands they bore, And twisted ropes; their mules before them driv’n; Now up, now down, now sideways, now aslope, They journey’d on; but when they reach’d the foot Of spring-abounding Ida, they began With axes keen to hew the lofty oaks; They, loudly crashing, fell: the wood they clove, And bound it to the mules; these took their way Through the thick brushwood, hurrying to the plain. The axe-men too, so bade Meriones, The follower of renown’d Idomeneus, Were laden all with logs, which on the beach They laid in order, where a lofty mound, In mem’ry of Patroclus and himself, Achilles had design’d. When all the store Of wood was duly laid, the rest remain’d In masses seated; but Achilles bade The warlike Myrmidons their armour don, And harness each his horses to his car; They rose and donn’d their arms, and on the cars Warriors and charioteers their places took. First came the horse, and then a cloud of foot, Unnumber’d; in the midst Patroclus came, Borne by his comrades; all the corpse with hair They cover’d o’er, which from their heads they shore. Behind, Achilles held his head, and mourn’d The noble friend whom to the tomb he bore. Then on the spot by Peleus’ son assign’d, They laid him down, and pil’d the wood on high. Then a fresh thought Achilles’ mind conceiv’d: Standing apart, the yellow locks he shore, Which as an off’ring to Sperchius’ stream, He nurs’d in rich profusion; sorrowing then Look’d o’er the dark-blue sea, as thus he spoke: “Sperchius, all in vain to thee his pray’r My father Peleus made, and vow’d that I, Return’d in safety to my native land, To thee should dedicate my hair, and pay A solemn hecatomb, with sacrifice Of fifty rams, unblemish’d, to the springs Where on thy consecrated soil is plac’d Thine incense-honour’d altar; so he vow’d; But thou the boon withhold’st; since I no more My native land may see, the hair he vow’d, To brave Patroclus thus I dedicate.” He said, and on his comrade’s hand he laid The locks; his act the gen’ral grief arous’d; And now the setting sun had found them still Indulging o’er the dead; but Peleus’ son Approaching, thus to Agamemnon spoke: “Atrides, for to thee the people pay Readiest obedience, mourning too prolong’d May weary; thou then from the pyre the rest Disperse, and bid prepare the morning meal; Ours be the farther charge, to whom the dead Was chiefly dear; yet let the chiefs remain.”