35
  Of Paris, who when to his rural hut
  They came, those Goddesses affronting,[1] praise
  And admiration gave to her alone
  Who with vile lusts his preference repaid. 
  But when the twelfth ensuing morn arose, 40
  Apollo, then, the immortals thus address’d. 
    Ye Gods, your dealings now injurious seem
  And cruel.  Was not Hector wont to burn
  Thighs of fat goats and bullocks at your shrines? 
  Whom now, though dead, ye cannot yet endure 45
  To rescue, that Andromache once more
  Might view him, his own mother, his own son,
  His father and the people, who would soon
  Yield him his just demand, a funeral fire. 
  But, oh ye Gods! your pleasure is alone 50
  To please Achilles, that pernicious chief,
  Who neither right regards, nor owns a mind
  That can relent, but as the lion, urged
  By his own dauntless heart and savage force,
  Invades without remorse the rights of man, 55
  That he may banquet on his herds and flocks,
  So Peleus’ son all pity from his breast
  Hath driven, and shame, man’s blessing or his curse.[2]
  For whosoever hath a loss sustain’d
  Still dearer, whether of his brother born 60
  From the same womb, or even of his son,
  When he hath once bewail’d him, weeps no more,
  For fate itself gives man a patient mind. 
  Yet Peleus’ son, not so contented, slays
  Illustrious Hector first, then drags his corse 65
  In cruel triumph at his chariot-wheels
  Around Patroclus’ tomb; but neither well
  He acts, nor honorably to himself,
  Who may, perchance, brave though he be, incur
  Our anger, while to gratify revenge 70
  He pours dishonor thus on senseless clay. 
    To whom, incensed, Juno white-arm’d replied. 
  And be it so; stand fast this word of thine,
  God of the silver bow! if ye account
  Only such honor to Achilles due 75
  As Hector claims; but Hector was by birth
  Mere man, and suckled at a woman’s breast. 
  Not such Achilles; him a Goddess bore,
  Whom I myself nourish’d, and on my lap
  Fondled, and in due time to Peleus gave 80
  In marriage, to a chief beloved in heaven
  Peculiarly; ye were yourselves, ye Gods! 
  Partakers of the nuptial feast, and thou
  Wast present also with thine harp in hand,
  Thou comrade of the vile! thou faithless ever! 85
    Then answer thus cloud-gatherer Jove return’d. 
  Juno, forbear.  Indulge not always wrath
  Against the Gods.  They shall not share alike,
  And in the same proportion our regards. 
  Yet even Hector was the man in Troy 90
  Most favor’d by the Gods, and him