Post on 30-Apr-2023
… Their mules and oxen harness to the wain, Pour
through the gates, and fell'd from Ida's crown,
Roll back the gather'd forests to the town. These
toils continue nine succeeding days, And high in
air a sylvan structure raise. But when the tenth
fair morn began to shine, Forth to the pile was
borne the man divine, And placed aloft; while all,
with streaming eyes, Beheld the flames and rolling
smokes arise. Soon as Aurora, daughter of the
dawn, With rosy lustre streak'd the dewy lawn,
Again the mournful crowds surround the pyre, And
quench with wine the yet remaining fire. The snowy
bones his friends and brothers place (With tears
collected) in a golden vase; The golden vase in
purple palls they roll'd, Of softest texture, and
inwrought with gold. Last o'er the urn the sacred
earth they spread, And raised the tomb, memorial
of the dead. …
(The Iliad of Homer, XXIV, 1005 ss. - Translated by
Alexander Pope)