… 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)

●

●

●

° °

→

°

→

→

→