away; Since, unrevenged, a hundred ghosts demand The fate of Hector from Achilles' hand; Since here, for brutal courage far renown'd, I live an idle burden to the ground, (Others in council famed for nobler skill, More useful to preserve, than I to kill,) Let me--But oh! ye gracious powers above! Wrath and revenge from men and gods remove: Far, far too dear to every mortal breast, Sweet to the soul, as honey to the taste: Gathering like vapours of a noxious kind From fiery blood, and darkening all the mind. Me Agamemnon urged to deadly hate; 'Tis past--I quell it; I resign to fate. Yes--I will meet the murderer of my friend; Or (if the gods ordain it) meet my end. The stroke of fate the strongest cannot shun: The great Alcides, Jove's unequall'd son, To Juno's hate, at length resign'd his breath, And sunk the victim of all-conquering death. So shall Achilles fall! stretch'd pale and dead, No more the Grecian hope, or Trojan dread! Let me,