te me, who hath twice
Made me thy prisoner, and my doom was death,
Death in my prime, the day when I was born
Son of Laothoee from Alta sprung, 105
From Alta, whom the Leleges obey
On Satnio's banks in lofty Pedasus.
His daughter to his other numerous wives
King Priam added, and two sons she bore
Only to be deprived by thee of both. 110
My brother hath already died, in front
Of Ilium's infantry, by thy bright spear,
The godlike Polydorus; and like doom
Shall now be mine, for I despair to escape
Thine hands, to which the Gods yield me again. 115
But hear and mark me well. My birth was not
From the same womb as Hector's, who hath slain
Thy valiant friend for clemency renown'd.
Such supplication the illustrious son
Of Priam made, but answer harsh received. 120
Fool! speak'st of ransom? Name it not to me.
For till my friend his miserable fate
Accomplish'd, I was somewhat given to spare,
And numerous, whom I seized alive, I sold.
But now, of all the Trojans whom the Gods 125
Deliver to me, none shall death escape,
'Specially of the house of Priam, none.
Die therefore, even thou, my friend! What mean
Thy tears unreasonably shed and vain?
Died not Patroclus. braver far than thou? 130
And look on me--see'st not to what a height
My stature towers, and what a bulk I boast?
A King begat me, and a Goddess bore.
What then! A death by violence awaits
Me also, and at morn, or eve, or noon, 135
I perish, whensoe'er the destined spear
Shall reach me, or the arrow from the nerve.
He ceased, and where the suppliant kneel'd, he died.
Quitting the spear, with both hands spread abroad
He sat, but swift Achilles with his sword 140
'Twixt neck and key-bone smote him, and his blade
Of double edge sank all into the wound.
He prone extended on the champain lay
Bedewing with his sable blood the glebe,
Till, by the foot, Achilles cast him far 145
Into the stream, and, as he floated down,
Thus in wing'd accents, glorying, exclaim'd.
Lie there, and feed the fishes, which shall lick
Thy blood secure. Thy mother ne'er shall place
Thee on thy bier, nor on thy body weep, 150
But swift Scamander on his giddy tide
Sh