to weep, And sank to quiet in the embrace of sleep, Exhausted with his grief: meanwhile the crowd Of thronging Grecians round Achilles stood; The tumult waked him: from his eyes he shook Unwilling slumber, and the chiefs bespoke: "Ye kings and princes of the Achaian name! First let us quench the yet remaining flame With sable wine; then, as the rites direct, The hero's bones with careful view select: (Apart, and easy to be known they lie Amidst the heap, and obvious to the eye: The rest around the margin will be seen Promiscuous, steeds and immolated men:) These wrapp'd in double cauls of fat, prepare; And in the golden vase dispose with care; There let them rest with decent honour laid, Till I shall follow to the infernal shade. Meantime erect the tomb with pious hands, A common structure on the humble sands: Hereafter Greece some nobler work may raise, And late posterity record our praise!" The Greeks obey; where yet the embers glow, Wide o'er the pile the sable wine they throw, And deep subsides the ashy heap below. Next the white bones his sad companions place, With tears collected, in the golden vase. The sacred relics to the tent they bore; The urn a veil of linen covered o'er. That done, they bid the sepulchre aspire, And cast the deep foundations round the pyre; High in the midst they heap the swelling bed Of rising earth, memorial of the dead. The swarming populace the chief detains, And leads amidst a wide extent of plains; There placed them round: then from the ships proceeds A train of oxen, mules, and stately steeds, Vases and tripods (for the funeral games), Resplendent brass, and more resplendent dames. First stood the prizes to reward the force Of rapid racers in the dusty course: A woman for the first, in beauty's bloom, Skill'd in the needle, and the labouring loom; And a large vase, where two bright handles rise, Of twenty measures its capacious size. The