He said; the silver-footed Queen obey’d; Down from Olympus’ heights in haste she sped, And sought her son; him found she in his tent, Groaning with anguish, while his comrades round, Plying their tasks, prepar’d the morning meal. For them a goodly sheep, full-fleec’d, was slain. Close by his side his Goddess-mother stood, And gently touch’d him with her hand, and said, “How long, my son, wilt thou thy soul consume With grief and mourning, mindful nor of food Nor sleep? nor dost thou wisely, to abstain From woman’s love; for short thy time on earth: Death and imperious fate are close at hand. Hear then my words; a messenger from Jove To thee I come, to tell thee that the Gods Are fill’d with wrath, and he above the rest Is angry, that beside the beaked ships Thou, mad with rage, the corpse of Hector keep’st. Then ransom take, and liberate the dead.” To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied: “So be it; ransom let him bring, and bear His dead away, if such the will of Jove.” Thus, in the concourse of the ships, they two, Mother and son, their lengthen’d converse held. Then Saturn’s son to Iris gave command: “Haste thee, swift Iris, from Olympus’ height, To Troy, to royal Priam bear my words; And bid him seek the Grecian ships, and there Obtain his son’s release; and with him take Such presents as may melt Achilles’ heart. Alone, no Trojan with him, must he go; Yet may a herald on his steps attend, Some aged man, his smoothly-rolling car And mules to drive; and to the city back To bring his dead, whom great Achilles slew. Nor let the fear of death disturb his mind: Hermes shall with him, as his escort, go, And to Achilles’ presence safely bring. Arriv’d within the tent, nor he himself Will slay him, but from others will protect. Not ignorant is he, nor void of sense, Nor disobedient to the Gods’ behest But will with pitying eyes his suppliant view.”