'He spoke; they hear him and the word obey; The rage of hunger and of thirst allay, Then ease in sleep the labours of the day.

'But great Pelidss, stretched along the shore, Where, dashed on rocks, the broken billows roar, Lies inly groaning; while on either hand The martial myrmidons confusedly stand: Along the grass his languid members fall, Tired with his chase around the Trojan wall; Hushed by the murmurs of the rolling deep, At length he sinks in the soft arms of sleep. When lo! the shade before his closing eyes Of sad Patroclus rose, or seemed to rise; In the same robe he living wore he came, In stature, voice, and pleasing look the same.

The form familiar hovered o'er his head,

"And sleeps Achilles" - thus the phantom said -

"Sleepsmy Achilles, his Patroclus dead?

Living I seemed his dearest, tenderest care,

But now. forgot I wander in the air:

Let my pale corse the rights of burial know,

And give me entrance in the realms below:

Till then the spirit finds no resting place,

But here and there the unbodied spectres chase

The vagrant dead around the dark abode,

Forbid to cross th' irremeable flood.

Now give thy hand, for to the farther shore,

"When once we pass, the soul returns no more.

When once the last funereal flames ascend

No more shall meet Achilles and his friend;

No more our thoughts to those we loved make known,

Or quit the dearest to converse alone.

Me fate has severed from the sons of earth,

The fate fore-doomed that waited from my birth.

Thee, too, it waits; before the Trojan wall

Even great and godlike thou art doomed to fall.

Hear then, and as in fate and love we join,

Ah, suffer that my bones may rest with thine!

Together have we lived, together bred,

One house received us, and one table fed;

That golden urn thy goddess mother gave

May mix our ashes in one common grave."

"And is it thou?" he answers, "to my sight

Once more return'st thou from the realms of night?

Oh, more than brother! think each offer paid,

Whatever can rest a discontented shade;

But grant one last embrace, unhappy boy!

Afford at least that melancholy joy."

'He said, and with his longing arms essayed In vain to grasp the visionary shade; Like a thin smoke he sees the spirit fly, And hears a feeble lamentable cry. Confused he wakes; amazement breaks the bands Of golden sleep, and starting from the sands, Pensive he muses with uplifted hands.

'" 'Tis true, 'tis certain; man, though dead, retains Part of himself; the immortal mind remains: The form subsists without the body's aid, Aerial semblance and an empty shade! This night my friend, so late in battle lost, Stood at my side, a pensive plaintive ghost; Even now, familiar as in life he came; Alas, how different! yet how like the same!"

'Thus, while he spake, each eye grew big with tears.'

Iliad.