The monarch Agamemnon heard, and straight Dispers’d the crowd amid their sev’ral ships. Th’ appointed band remain’d, and pil’d the wood. A hundred feet each way they built the pyre, And on the summit, sorrowing, laid the dead. Then many a sheep and many a slow-paced ox They flay’d and dress’d around the fun’ral pyre; Of all the beasts Achilles took the fat, And cover’d o’er the corpse from head to foot, And heap’d the slaughter’d carcases around; Then jars of honey plac’d, and fragrant oils, Resting upon the couch; next, groaning loud, Four pow’rful horses on the pyre he threw; Then, of nine dogs that at their master’s board Had fed, he slaughter’d two upon his pyre; Last, with the sword, by evil counsel sway’d, Twelve noble youths he slew, the sons of Troy. The fire’s devouring might he then applied, And, groaning, on his lov’d companion call’d: “All hail, Patroclus, though in Pluto’s realm! All that I promis’d, lo! I now perform: On twelve brave sons of Trojan sires, with thee, The flames shall feed; but Hector, Priam’s son, Not to the fire, but to the dogs I give.” Such was Achilles’ threat, but him the dogs Molested not; for Venus, night and day Daughter of Jove, the rav’ning dogs restrain’d; And all the corpse o’erlaid with roseate oil, Ambrosial, that though dragg’d along the earth, The noble dead might not receive a wound. Apollo too a cloudy veil from Heav’n Spread o’er the plain, and cover’d all the space Where lay the dead, nor let the blazing sun The flesh upon his limbs and muscles parch. Yet burnt not up Patroclus’ fun’ral pyre; Then a fresh thought Achilles’ mind conceiv’d: Standing apart, on both the Winds he call’d, Boreas and Zephyrus, and added vows Of costly sacrifice; and pouring forth Libations from a golden goblet, pray’d Their presence, that the wood might haste to burn, And with the fire consume the dead; his pray’r Swift Iris heard, and bore it to the Winds. They in the hall of gusty Zephyrus Were gather’d round the feast; in haste appearing, Swift Iris on the stony threshold stood. They saw, and rising all, besought her each To sit beside him; she with their requests Refus’d compliance, and address’d them thus: “No seat for me; for I o’er th’ ocean stream From hence am bound to Æthiopia’s shore, To share the sacred feast, and hecatombs, Which there they offer to th’ immortal Gods; But, Boreas, thee, and loud-voic’d Zephyrus, With vows of sacrifice, Achilles calls To fan the fun’ral pyre, whereon is laid Patroclus, mourn’d by all the host of Greece.”