of our nation, and my father as their chief, and ask them 5
what they think. All are of the same mind, to depart from
the land of crime, to leave the home of violated friendship,
and indulge our fleet with the gales that wooed it. So we
give Polydorus a solemn funeral: earth is heaped high
upon his mound; there stand the altars reared to his 10
manes,[145] in all the woe of dark fillets and sad-coloured
cypress: and round them are daughters of Ilion, their
hair unbound in mourner fashion: we offer bowls of new
milk warm and frothing, and dishes of consecrated blood: