with sore anguish all their hearts were smitten: piteously they moaned: their cry shivered along the waves of the hellespont. then, shrouded in dark mantles, they sped swiftly to where the argive men were thronged. as rushed their troop up silver paths of sea, the flood disported round them as they came. with one wild cry they floated up; it rang, a sound as when fleet-flying cranes forebode a great storm… as rain upon the earth their tears fell round the dead achilles; for out of depths of sorrow rose their moan. and all the armour, yea, the tents, the ships of that great sorrowing multitude were wet with tears from ever-welling springs of grief.