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- BOOK WIII.
THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
lance. But much I hope; that slain hand—midst the carnage of fallen frie crising sun shall beam on the he Would I were as certain to livi
like the deathless gods—void of . progress of years [.. Would I w Apollo. Like Pallas honoure —As that the returning day to the Argives!” THUs Hector spoke i Trojans shout around to their sweating steeds fr each to his proper car. brought from Troy. -generous wine. The in heaps. The wind -
-skies.
Much elated.
sat, the night, by many flamed their £ in heaven, the pur bright crescent “stirs the gentle a tinct to the eye: ' ‘ing groves. W sight—displayin his soul rejoice the Trojan fº the Greeks– loud Scama in the field. Their face: steeds stoo
yellow bar the east—
