Gloomy he said, and (horrible to view) Before the bier the bleeding Hector threw, Prone on the dust. The Myrmidons around Unbraced their armour, and the steeds unbound. All to Achilles’ sable ship repair, Frequent and full, the genial feast to share. Now from the well-fed swine black smokes aspire, The bristly victims hissing o’er the fire: The huge ox bellowing falls; with feebler cries Expires the goat; the sheep in silence dies. Around the hero’s prostrate body flow’d, In one promiscuous stream, the reeking blood. And now a band of Argive monarchs brings The glorious victor to the king of kings. From his dead friend the pensive warrior went, With steps unwilling, to the regal tent. The attending heralds, as by office bound, With kindled flames the tripod-vase surround: To cleanse his conquering hands from hostile gore, They urged in vain; the chief refused, and swore:[282]