Hector tinged with blood of victims slain? And can ye still his cold remains pursue? Still grudge his body to the Trojans' view? Deny to consort, mother, son, and sire, The last sad honours of a funeral fire? Is then the dire Achilles all your care? That iron heart, inflexibly severe; A lion, not a man, who slaughters wide, In strength of rage, and impotence of pride; Who hastes to murder with a savage joy, Invades around, and breathes but to destroy! Shame is not of his soul; nor understood, The greatest evil and the greatest good. Still for one loss he rages unresign'd, Repugnant to the lot of all mankind; To lose a friend, a brother, or a son, Heaven dooms each mortal, and its will is done: Awhile they sorrow, then dismiss their care; Fate gives the wound, and man is born to bear. But this insatiate, the commission given By fate exceeds, and tempts the wrath of heaven: Lo, how his rage dishonest drags along Hector's dead earth, insensible of wrong! Brave though he be, yet by no reason awed, He violates the laws of man and god." [Illustration: THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.] THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. "If equal honours by the partial skies Are doom'd both heroes, (Juno thus replies,) If Thetis' son must no distinction know, Then hear, ye gods! the patron of the bow. But Hector only boasts a mortal claim, His birth deriving from a mortal dame: Achilles, of your own ethereal race, Springs from a goddess by a man's embrace (A goddess by ourself to Peleus given, A man divine, and chosen friend of heaven) To grace those nuptials, from the bright abode Yourselves were present; where this minstrel-god, Well pleased to share the feast, amid the quire Stood proud to hymn, and tune his youthful lyre." Then thus the Thunderer checks the imperial dame: "Let not thy wrath the court of heaven inflame; Their merits, nor their honours, are the same. But mine,