Classic Poem

great Pelides, stretch'd the Shore
Where dash'd on Rocks the broken Billows roar,
Lies inly groaning; while on either Hand
The martial Myrmidons confus'dly stand:
Along the Grass his languid Members fall,
Tir'd with his Chase around the Trojan Wall;
Hush'd by the Murmurs of the rolling Deep
At length he sinks in the soft Arms of Sleep.
When lo! the Shade before his closing Eyes
Of sad Patroclus rose, or seem'd to rise;
In the same Robe he living wore, he came,
In Stature, Voice, and pleasing Look, the same.
The Form familiar hover'd o'er his Head,
And sleeps Achilles, (thus the Phantom said)
Sleeps my Achilles, his Patroclus dead?
Living, I seem'd his dearest, tend'rest Care,
But now forgot, I wander in the Air:
Let my pale Corse the Rites of Burial know,
And give me Entrance in the Realms below:
Till then, the Spirit finds no resting place,
But here and there th' unbody'd Spectres chace
The vagrant Dead around the dark Abode,
Forbid to cross th' irremeable Flood.
Now give thy Hand; for to the farther Shore
When once we pass, the Soul returns no more.
When once the last Funereal Flames ascend,
No more shall meet, Achilles and his Friend,
No more our Thoughts to those we lov'd make known,
Or quit the dearest, to converse alone.
Me Fate has sever'd from the Sons of Earth,
The Fate foe-doom'd that waited from my Birth:
Thee too it waits; before the Trojan Wall
Ev'n great and god-like Thou art doom'd to fall.
Hear then; and as in Fate and Love we joyn,
Ah suffer that my Bones may rest with thine!
Together have we liv'd, together bred,
One House receiv'd us, and one Table fed;
That golden Urn thy Goddess Mother gave
May mix our Ashes in one common Grave.
And is it thou (he answers) to my Sight
Once more return'st thou from the Realms of Night?
Oh more than Brother! Think each Office paid,
Whate'er can rest a discontented Shade;
But grant one last Embrace, unhappy Boy!
Afford at least that melancholy joy.
He said, and with his longing Arms essay'd
In vain to grasp the visionary Shade;
Like a thin Smoke he sees the Spirit fly,
And hears a feeble, lamentable Cry.
Confus'd he wakes; Amazement breaks the Bands
Of golden Sleep, and starting from the Sands,
Pensive he muses with uplifted Hands.