And to whom mixt are the doles of the thunder-delighting Kronion,
He sometime is of blessing partaker, of misery sometime;

But if he gives him the ill, he has fixed him the mark of disaster,
And over bountiful earth the devouring Necessity drives him,
Wandering ever forlorn, unregarded of gods and of mortals.
Thus of a truth did the gods grant glorious gifts unto Peleus,
Even from the hour of his birth, for above compare was he favored,
Whether in wealth or in power, in the land of the Myrmidons reign-
ing;

And albeit a mortal, his spouse was a goddess appointed.

Yet even to him, of the god there was evil apportioned, — that

never

Lineage of sons should be born in his home, to inherit dominion.
One son alone he begat, to untimely calamity foredoomed;
Nor do I cherish his age, since afar from the land of my fathers
Here in the Troas I sit, to the torment of thee and thy children.
And we have heard, old man, of thine ancient prosperity also,
Lord of whatever is held between Lesbos the seat of the Macar,
Up to the Phrygian bound and the measureless Hellespontos;
Ruling and blest above all, nor in wealth nor in progeny equaled:
Yet from the hour that the gods brought this visitation upon
thee,

Day unto day is thy city surrounded with battles and bloodshed. Howso, bear what is sent, nor be grieved in thy soul without ceasing.

Nothing avails it, O king! to lament for the son that has fallen; Him thou canst raise up no more, but thyself may have new tribulation."

So having said, he was answered by Priam the aged and godlike:

"Seat not me on the chair, O beloved of Olympus! while Hector Lies in the tent uninterred; but I pray thee deliver him swiftly, That I may see with mine eyes; and, accepting the gifts of redemption,

Therein have joy to thy heart; and return thou homeward in safety,
Since of thy mercy I live and shall look on the light of the morning."
Darkly regarding the king, thus answered the rapid Achilles :-
"Stir me to anger no more, old man of myself I am minded
To the release of the dead; for a messenger came from Kronion
Hither, the mother that bore me, the child of the Ancient of
Ocean.

Thee, too, I know in my mind, nor has aught of thy passage escaped

me;

How that some god was the guide of thy steps to the ships of Achaia.

For never mortal had dared to advance, were he blooming in manhood,

Here to the host by himself; nor could sentinels all be avoided;
Nor by an imbecile push might the bar be dislodged at my bulwark.
Therefore excite me no more, old man, when my soul is in sorrow,
Lest to thyself peradventure forbearance continue not alway,
Suppliant all that thou art- but I break the behest of the godhead."
So did he speak; but the old man feared, and obeyed his com-
mandment.

Forth of the door of his dwelling then leapt like a lion Peleides; But not alone: of his household were twain that attended his going,

Hero Automedon first, and young Alkimus, he that was honored Chief of the comrades around since the death of beloved Patroclus. These from the yoke straightway unharnessed the mules and the horses,

And they conducted within the coeval attendant of Priam,
Bidding him sit in the tent; then swiftly their hands from the mule-
wain,

Raise the uncountable wealth of the king's Hectorean head-gifts.
But two mantles they leave, and a tunic of beautiful texture,
Seemly for wrapping the dead as the ransomer carries him home-
ward.

Then were the handmaidens called, and commanded to wash and anoint him,

Privately lifted aside, lest the son should be seen of the father,
Lest in the grief of his soul he restrain not his anger within him,
Seeing the corse of his son, but enkindle the heart of Achilles,
And he smite him to death, and transgress the command of Kronion.
But when the dead had been washed and anointed with oil by the
maidens,

And in the tunic arrayed and enwrapt in the beautiful mantle,
Then by Peleides himself was he raised and composed on the hand-

bier;

Which when the comrades had lifted and borne to its place in the mule-wain,

Then groaned he; and he called on the name of his friend, the beloved:

"Be not wroth with me now, O Patroclus, if haply thou hearest, Though within Hades obscure, that I yield the illustrious Hector Back to his father dear. Not unworthy the gifts of redemption; And unto thee will I render thereof whatsoever is seemly."

THE SIRENS, SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS.

(From the "Odyssey"; translated by Philip S. Worsley.)

BUT when the Ocean river in our wake

Streamed afar off, borne through the wide-wayed deep Straight from Eæa's isle our course we take,

To where the young-eyed Morning loves to keep Her pastime, and the Sun wakes up from sleep. Thither arrived on the smooth shores we run

The keel, and to the land our sailors leap, And all night slumbering on the sands, each one Waits for the Dawn divine and the returning Sun.

But when the rosy-fingered Dawn was come,
Child of the mist, my comrades forth I sent
To fetch the dead Elpenor from the home

Of Circe. Then to the utmost we went,
And cut wood, and with tears and sad lament
Paid the funeral rites. So when with all

His arms the dead was burned, a monument

Of earth, and gravestone to record his fall

We reared, and in the midst, the shapely oar sprang tall.

We then, reminded of our labors past,

Talked over all that we had seen and known; And Circe knew that through the billows vast From Hades' realms we had returned, and soon In shining raiment to the shore came down, While in her train paced many a maiden fair,

Who corn and flesh, and sparkling wine, the crown Of banquets, in white hands uplifted bare.

Then, standing in the midst, spake the divine one there:

"Ah! desperate, who have trod with living feet
The house of Hades and the sunless way,
Twice dead, while others die but once! Haste, eat
Both corn and flesh in plenty while ye may,
And, sitting here, drink wine the livelong day!

Hence in the morning shall ye sail, and I

Will point your path, nor any more delay
To warn you, and each danger signify,
Lest or by land or wave you find adversity."

She ended, and our manly heart obeyed.

So through the livelong day on corn, flesh, wine, We feasted, till the sun fell and the shade

Descended. Then the mariners recline

Hard by the black ship; but the queen divine
Led me apart from my companions dear,

And lay with me, and asked each word and sign
Of the late work; which I unfolded clear;
And at the last spake Circe in my listening ear:

"These things are ended. Hearken now my word!
Yea, God himself shall call it to thy mind.
First shalt thou reach the Sirens, who, once heard,
Charm with their strains the souls of all mankind.
If unawares come floating on the wind
That clear, sweet music, which the Sirens pour,

He who hath quaffed it with his ears shall find
No voice, no welcome, on his native shore,

Shall on his dear wife gaze and lisping babes no more.

"For the shrill Sirens, couched among the flowers, Sing melodies that lure from the great deep

The heedless mariner to their fatal bowers,

Where round about them, piled in many a heap,

Lie the bleached bones of moldering men that sleep

Forever, and the dead skins waste away.

Thou through the waves thy course right onward keep,

And stop with wax thy comrades' ears, that they

Hear not the sweet death songs which through the wide air stray.

"But if thyself art fain to hear their song,

Let thy companions bind thee, hands and feet,
Upright against the mast with cordage strong.
So mayst thou hearken to the voices sweet
Of the twin Sirens, as thy white sails fleet
Along the perilous coast; yet, though thou yearn
To linger, and with tears thy friend entreat,

Let them remain hard-hearted, doubly stern

Yea, with more chains enwind thee, and thy anguish spurn.

"These once escaped, no more I plainly tell

Which way be safer; thou shalt think; but I Both will proclaim; for there wild rocks upswell Vast, overshadowing, round whose bases cry Dark Amphitrite's billows. Gods on high

These rocks call Wanderers; and no wingèd thing That place hath passed, or can pass, harmless by No, not the doves, those tremblers, wont to bring Ambrosia, heavenly food, to Father Zeus, their king.

"One of their number the fell rock doth slay,
But aye another doth the Father send
His convoy to complete. Nor by that way
Ever did bark of mortal oarage wend,

For waves and fiery storms the timbers rend,
And the men murder. Of all ships that sail
Argo, beloved one, did alone transcend
That ruin. She too had been brought to bale,
But that queen Hera's love for Jason did prevail.

"Guarding a narrow gulf two rocks there are,
Whereof the one, sky threatening, a black cloud
Not pierceable by power of sun, moon, star,
Doth everlastingly with gloom enshroud.
Summer nor autumn to that pile dark-browed

Lend a clear ether, nor could mortal wight,

Albeit with twenty hands and feet endowed, Climb or descend that sheer and perilous height,

Which, smooth as burnished stone, darts heavenward out of sight.

"Deep in the mid rock lies a murky cave,

Whose mouth yawns westward to the sullen dark

Of Erebus; and thou, Odysseus brave,

Must by this way direct the hollow bark.
Nor yet could any archer taking mark,

No, not a strong man in his life's full bloom,

A swift-winged shaft from that same hollow bark
Shoot to the vault, within whose hideous womb
Scylla in secret lurks, dread-howling through the gloom.

"Her voice is like the voice of whelps new-born,
Yet she such monster as no eyes can meet

Rejoicing, or with glance of careless scorn,
Not though a god should pass her dire retreat.
Twelve feet she has, twelve huge misshapen feet,
And six long necks, wherefrom she quivereth
Six heads of terror, and her prey doth eat
With grim jaws, armed with triple ranks of teeth,
Frequent and thickly sown and teeming with black death.