but yet preserving the power of speech. As his conqueror stands over him cruelly vaunting, and vowing to give his body to the dogs and to the vultures, he makes a last appeal to his mercy. "By the heads of his parents" he beseeches him to spare this last indignity; the ransom which his father Priam will offer shall be ample for one poor corpse. But the wrath of Achilles has become for the present mere savage madness. Neither prayer nor ransom shall avail in this matter. Hector's last words are prophetic:—
"I know thee well, nor did I hope
To change thy purpose; iron is thy soul.
But see that on thy head I bring not down
The wrath of heaven, when by the Scæan gate
The hand of Paris, with Apollo's aid,
Brave warrior as thou art, shall strike thee down." (D.)
The only glimpse of nobility which Achilles shows throughout the whole scene is in his stoical answer:—
"Die thou! my fate I then shall meet, whene'er
Jove and th' immortal gods shall so decree."
What follows is mere brutality. The Greeks crowd round, and drive their weapons into the senseless body.
"And one to other looked, and said, 'Good faith,
Hector is easier far to handle now,
Than when erewhile he wrapped our ships in fire.'"
Does it need here to do more than recall the too well remembered sequel—how the savage victor pierced the heels of his dead enemy, and so fastened the body to his chariot, and dragged him off to his ships, in full sight of his agonised parents? how
"A cloud of dust the trailing body raised;
Loose hung his glossy hair; and in the dust
Was laid that noble head, so graceful once."
