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with the nigger that fed Jim--if it
_was_ Jim that was being fed. The niggers was just getting through
breakfast and starting for the fields; and Jim's nigger was piling up
a tin pan with bread and meat and things; and whilst the others was
leaving, the key come from the house.
This nigger had a good-natured, chuckle-headed face, and his wool was
all tied up in little bunches with thread. That was to keep witches
off. He said the witches was pestering him awful these nights, and
making him
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and orders him to show himself
at the head of the intrenchments. The sight of him turns the fortunes of
the day, and the body of Patroclus is carried off by the Greeks. The
Trojans call a council, where Hector and Polydamas disagree in their
opinions: but the advice of the former prevails, to remain encamped in the
field. The grief of Achilles over the body of Patroclus.
Thetis goes to the palace of Vulcan to obtain new arms for her son. The
description of the wonderful works of Vulcan: and, lastly, that noble one
of the shield of Achilles.
The latter part of the nine-and-twentieth day, and the night ensuing, take
up this book: the scene is at Achilles' tent on the sea-shore, from whence
it changes to the palace of Vulcan.
Thus like the rage of fire the combat burns,(250)
And now it rises, now it sinks by turns.
Meanwhile, where Hellespont's broad waters flow,
Stood Nestor's son, the messenger of woe:
There sat Achilles, shaded by his sails,
On hoisted yards extended to the gales;
Pensive he sat; for all that fate design'd
Rose in sad prospect to his boding mind.
Thus to his soul he said: "Ah! what constrains
The Greeks, late victors, now to quit the plains?
Is this the day, which heaven so long ago
Ordain'd, to sink me with the weight of woe?
(So Thetis warn'd;) when by a Trojan hand
The bravest of the Myrmidonian band
Should lose the light! Fulfilled is that decree;
Fallen is the warrior, and Patroclus he!
In vain I charged him soon to quit the plain,
And warn'd to shun Hectorean force in vain!"
Thus while he thinks, Antilochus appears,
And tells the melancholy tale with tears.
"Sad tidings, son of Peleus! thou must hear;
And wretched I, the unwilling messenger!
Dead is Patroclus! For his corse they fight;
His naked corse: his arms are Hector's right."
A sudden horror shot through all the chief,
And wrapp'd his senses in the cloud of grief;
Cast on the ground, with furious hands he spread
The scorching