plate Gave entrance: through that penetrable part Furious he drove the well-directed dart: Nor pierced the windpipe yet, nor took the power Of speech, unhappy! from thy dying hour. Prone on the field the bleeding warrior lies, While, thus triumphing, stern Achilles cries: "At last is Hector stretch'd upon the plain, Who fear'd no vengeance for Patroclus slain: Then, prince! you should have fear'd, what now you feel; Achilles absent was Achilles still: Yet a short space the great avenger stayed, Then low in dust thy strength and glory laid. Peaceful he sleeps, with all our rites adorn'd, For ever honour'd, and for ever mourn'd: While cast to all the rage of hostile power, Thee birds shall mangle, and the gods devour." Then Hector, fainting at the approach of death: "By thy own soul! by those who gave thee breath! By all the sacred prevalence of prayer; Ah, leave me not for Grecian dogs to tear! The common rites of sepulture bestow, To soothe a father's and a mother's woe: Let their large gifts procure an urn at least, And Hector's ashes in his country rest." "No, wretch accursed! relentless he replies; (Flames, as he spoke, shot flashing from his eyes;) Not those who gave me breath should bid me spare, Nor all the sacred prevalence of prayer. Could I myself the bloody banquet join! No--to the dogs that carcase I resign. Should Troy, to bribe me, bring forth all her store, And giving thousands, offer thousands more; Should Dardan Priam, and his weeping dame, Drain their whole realm to buy one funeral flame: Their Hector on the pile they should not see, Nor rob the vultures of one limb of thee." Then thus the chief his dying accents drew: "Thy rage, implacable! too well I knew: The Furies that relentless breast have steel'd, And cursed thee with a heart that cannot yield. Yet think, a day will come, when fate's decree And angry gods shall wreak this wrong on thee; Phoebus and Par