Up to her turret; then she shook; her work fell from her hand, And up she started, called her maids; she needs must understand That ominous outcry. "Come," said she; then fury-like she went, Two women, as she willed, at hand, and made her quick ascent Up to the tower and press of men, her spirit in uproar. Round She cast her greedy eye, and saw her Hector slain, and bound T'Achilles' chariot, manlessly dragged to the Grecian fleet. Black night struck through her, under her trance took away her feet. Thus all Troy mourned; but Achilles dragged the slain Hector to the slain Patroclus, and did despite to his body in his wrath; and made ready to hold high obsequies for his friend. And on the morrow They raised a huge pile, and to arms went every Myrmidon, Charged by Achilles; chariots and horse were harnessed, Fighters and charioteers got up, and they the sad march led, A cloud of infinite foot behind. In midst of all was borne Patroclus' person by his peers. Fit feastings were held, and games with rich prizes, racings and wrestlings, wherein the might of Ajax could not overcome the skill of Ulysses, nor his skill the might of Ajax. Then Thetis by the will of the gods bade Achilles cease from his wrath against Hector; and suffer the Trojans to redeem his body for a ransom. And Iris came to Priam where the old king sate: the princesses his seed, the princesses his sons' fair wives, all mourning by. She bade him offer ransom to Achilles; and then, guided by Hermes, Priam came to the tent of Achilles, bearing rich gifts, and he kneeled before him, clasping his knees, and besought him, saying: "Pity an old man like thy sire, different in only this, That I am wretcheder, and bear that weight of miseries That never man did, my cursed lips enforced to kiss that hand That slew my children." At his feet he laid his reverend head. Achilles' thoughts now with his sire, now with his friend were fed. Moved by compassion, and by the message which Thetis had brought him, Achilles accepted the ransom, and suffered Priam to bear away the body, granting a twelve days' truce. And Troy mourned for him, Andromache lamenting and Hecuba, his mother. And on this wise spake Helen herself. "O Hector, all my brothers more were not so loved of me As thy most virtues. Not my lord I held so dear as thee,