The Iliad Of Homer: Translated Into English Blank Verse: Book XXII.

Argument Of The Twenty-Second Book.      Achilles slays Hector.      Thus they, throughout all Troy, like hunted fawns      Dispersed, their trickling limbs at leisure cool'd,      And, drinking, slaked their fiery thirst, reclined      Against the battlements. Meantime, the Greeks      Sloping their shields, approach'd the walls of Troy,      And Hector, by his adverse fate ensnared,      Still stood exposed before the Scan gate.      Then spake Apollo thus to Peleus' son.      Wherefore, thyself mortal, pursuest thou me      Immortal? oh Achilles! blind with rage,      Thou know'st not yet, that thou pursuest a God.      Unmindful of thy proper task, to press      The flying Trojans, thou hast hither turn'd      Devious, and they are all now safe in Troy;      Yet hope me not to slay; I cannot die.      To whom Achilles swiftest of the swift,      Indignant. Oh, of all the Powers above      To me most adverse, Archer of the skies!      Thou hast beguiled me, leading me away      From Ilium far, whence intercepted, else,      No few had at this moment gnaw'd the glebe.      Thou hast defrauded me of great renown,      And, safe thyself, hast rescued them with ease.      Ah--had I power, I would requite thee well.      So saying, incensed he turned toward the town      His rapid course, like some victorious steed      That whirls, at stretch, a chariot to the goal.      Such seem'd Achilles, coursing light the field.      Him, first, the ancient King of Troy perceived      Scouring the plain, resplendent as the star      Autumnal, of all stars in dead of night      Conspicous most, and named Orion's dog;      Brightest it shines, but ominous, and dire      Disease portends to miserable man;[1]      So beam'd Achilles' armor as he flew.      Loud wail'd the hoary King; with lifted hands      His head he smote, and, uttering doleful cries      Of supplication, sued to his own son.      He, fixt before the gate, desirous stood      Of combat with Achilles, when his sire      With arms outstretch'd toward him, thus began.      My Hector! wait not, oh my son! the approach      Of this dread Chief, alone, lest premature      Thou die, this moment by Achilles slain,      For he is strongest far. Oh that the Gods      Him loved as I! then, soon should vultures rend      And dogs his carcase, and my grief should cease.      He hath unchilded me of many a son,      All valiant youths, whom he hath slain or sold      To distant isles, and even now, I miss      Two sons, whom since the shutting of the gates      I find not, Polydorus and Lycaon,      My children by Laothe the fair.      If they survive prisoners in yonder camp,      I will redeem them with gold and brass      By noble Eltes to his daughter given,      Large store, and still reserved. But should they both,      Already slain, have journey'd to the shades,      We, then, from whom they sprang have cause to mourn      And mourn them long, but shorter shall the grief      Of Ilium prove, if thou escape and live.      Come then, my son! enter the city-gate      That thou may'st save us all, nor in thy bloom      Of life cut off, enhance Achilles' fame.      Commiserate also thy unhappy sire      Ere yet distracted, whom Saturnian Jove      Ordains to a sad death, and ere I die      To woes innumerable; to behold      Sons slaughter'd, daughters ravish'd, torn and stripp'd      The matrimonial chamber, infants dash'd      Against the ground in dire hostility,[2]      And matrons dragg'd by ruthless Grecian hands.      Me, haply, last of all, dogs shall devour      In my own vestibule, when once the spear      Or falchion of some Greek hath laid me low.      The very dogs fed at my table-side,      My portal-guards, drinking their master's blood      To drunkenness, shall wallow in my courts.      Fair falls the warlike youth in battle slain,      And when he lies torn by the pointed steel,      His death becomes him well; he is secure,      Though dead, from shame, whatever next befalls:      But when the silver locks and silver beard      Of an old man slain by the sword, from dogs      Receive dishonor, of all ills that wait      On miserable man, that sure is worst.      So spake the ancient King, and his grey hairs      Pluck'd with both hands, but Hector firm endured.      On the other side all tears his mother stood,      And lamentation; with one hand she bared,      And with the other hand produced her breast,      Then in wing'd accents, weeping, him bespake.      My Hector! reverence this, and pity me      If ever, drawing forth this breast, thy griefs      Of infancy I soothed, oh now, my son!      Acknowledge it, and from within the walls      Repulse this enemy; stand not abroad      To cope with him, for he is savage-fierce,      And should he slay thee, neither shall myself      Who bore thee, nor thy noble spouse weep o'er      Thy body, but, where we can never come,      Dogs shall devour it in the fleet of Greece.      So they with prayers importuned, and with tears      Their son, but him sway'd not; unmoved he stood,      Expecting vast Achilles now at hand.      As some fell serpent in his cave expects      The traveller's approach, batten'd with herbs      Of baneful juice to fury,[3] forth he looks      Hideous, and lies coil'd all around his den,      So Hector, fill'd with confidence untamed,      Fled not, but placing his bright shield against      A buttress, with his noble heart conferr'd.      [4]Alas for me! should I repass the gate,      Polydamas would be the first to heap      Reproaches on me, for he bade me lead      The Trojans back this last calamitous night      In which Achilles rose to arms again.      But I refused, although to have complied,      Had proved more profitable far; since then      By rash resolves of mine I have destroy'd      The people, how can I escape the blame      Of all in Troy? The meanest there will say--      By his self-will he hath destroy'd us all.      So shall they speak, and then shall I regret      That I return'd ere I had slain in fight      Achilles, or that, by Achilles slain,      I died not nobly in defence of Troy.      But shall I thus? Lay down my bossy shield,      Put off my helmet, and my spear recline      Against the city wall, then go myself      To meet the brave Achilles, and at once      Promise him Helen, for whose sake we strive      With all the wealth that Paris in his fleet      Brought home, to be restored to Atreus' sons,      And to distribute to the Greeks at large      All hidden treasures of the town, an oath      Taking beside from every senator,      That he will nought conceal, but will produce      And share in just equality what stores      Soever our fair city still includes?      Ah airy speculations, questions vain!      I may not sue to him: compassion none      Will he vouchsafe me, or my suit respect.      But, seeing me unarm'd, will sate at once      His rage, and womanlike I shall be slain.      It is no time from oak or hollow rock      With him to parley, as a nymph and swain,      A nymph and swain[5] soft parley mutual hold,      But rather to engage in combat fierce      Incontinent; so shall we soonest learn      Whom Jove will make victorious, him or me.      Thus pondering he stood; meantime approach'd      Achilles, terrible as fiery Mars,      Crest-tossing God, and brandish'd as he came      O'er his right shoulder high the Pelian spear.      Like lightning, or like flame, or like the sun      Ascending, beam'd his armor. At that sight      Trembled the Trojan Chief, nor dared expect      His nearer step, but flying left the gates      Far distant, and Achilles swift pursued.      As in the mountains, fleetest fowl of air,      The hawk darts eager at the dove; she scuds      Aslant, he screaming, springs and springs again      To seize her, all impatient for the prey,      So flew Achilles constant to the track      Of Hector, who with dreadful haste beneath      The Trojan bulwarks plied his agile limbs.      Passing the prospect-mount where high in air      The wild-fig waved,[6] they rush'd along the road,      Declining never from the wall of Troy.      And now they reach'd the running rivulets clear,      Where from Scamander's dizzy flood arise      Two fountains,[7] tepid one, from which a smoke      Issues voluminous as from a fire,      The other, even in summer heats, like hail      For cold, or snow, or crystal-stream frost-bound.      Beside them may be seen the broad canals      Of marble scoop'd, in which the wives of Troy      And all her daughters fair were wont to lave      Their costly raiment,[8] while the land had rest,      And ere the warlike sons of Greece arrived.      By these they ran, one fleeing, one in chase.      Valiant was he who fled, but valiant far      Beyond him he who urged the swift pursuit;      Nor ran they for a vulgar prize, a beast      For sacrifice, or for the hide of such,      The swift foot-racer's customary meed,      But for the noble Hector's life they ran.      As when two steeds, oft conquerors, trim the goal      For some illustrious prize, a tripod bright      Or beauteous virgin, at a funeral game,      So they with nimble feet the city thrice      Of Priam compass'd. All the Gods look'd on,      And thus the Sire of Gods and men began.      Ah--I behold a warrior dear to me      Around the walls of Ilium driven, and grieve      For Hector, who the thighs of fatted bulls      On yonder heights of Ida many-valed      Burn'd oft to me, and in the heights of Troy:[9]      But him Achilles, glorious Chief, around      The city walls of Priam now pursues.      Consider this, ye Gods! weigh the event.      Shall we from death save Hector? or, at length,      Leave him, although in battle high renown'd,      To perish by the might of Peleus' son?      Whom answer'd thus Pallas cerulean-eyed.      Dread Sovereign of the storms! what hast thou said?      Wouldst thou deliver from the stroke of fate      A mortal man death-destined from of old?      Do it; but small thy praise shall be in heaven.      Then answer thus, cloud-gatherer Jove return'd.      Fear not, Tritonia, daughter dear! that word      Spake not my purpose; me thou shalt perceive      Always to thee indulgent. What thou wilt      That execute, and use thou no delay.      So roused he Pallas of herself prepared,      And from the heights Olympian down she flew.      With unremitting speed Achilles still      Urged Hector. As among the mountain-height      The hound pursues, roused newly from her lair      The flying fawn through many a vale and grove;      And though she trembling skulk the shrubs beneath,      Tracks her continual, till he find the prey,      So 'scaped not Hector Peleus' rapid son.      Oft as toward the Dardan gates he sprang      Direct, and to the bulwarks firm of Troy,      Hoping some aid by volleys from the wall,      So oft, outstripping him, Achilles thence      Enforced him to the field, who, as he might,      Still ever stretch'd toward the walls again.      As, in a dream,[10] pursuit hesitates oft,      This hath no power to fly, that to pursue,      So these--one fled, and one pursued in vain.      How, then, had Hector his impending fate      Eluded, had not Phoebus, at his last,      Last effort meeting him, his strength restored,      And wing'd for flight his agile limbs anew?      The son of Peleus, as he ran, his brows      Shaking, forbad the people to dismiss      A dart at Hector, lest a meaner hand      Piercing him, should usurp the foremost praise.      But when the fourth time to those rivulets.      They came, then lifting high his golden scales,      Two lots the everlasting Father placed      Within them, for Achilles one, and one      For Hector, balancing the doom of both.      Grasping it in the midst, he raised the beam.      Down went the fatal day of Hector, down      To Ades, and Apollo left his side.      Then blue-eyed Pallas hasting to the son      Of Peleus, in wing'd accents him address'd.      Now, dear to Jove, Achilles famed in arms!      I hope that, fierce in combat though he be,      We shall, at last, slay Hector, and return      Crown'd with great glory to the fleet of Greece.      No fear of his deliverance now remains,      Not even should the King of radiant shafts,      Apollo, toil in supplication, roll'd      And roll'd again[11] before the Thunderer's feet.      But stand, recover breath; myself, the while,      Shall urge him to oppose thee face to face.      So Pallas spake, whom joyful he obey'd,      And on his spear brass-pointed lean'd. But she,      (Achilles left) to noble Hector pass'd,      And in the form, and with the voice loud-toned      Approaching of Deiphobus, his ear      In accents, as of pity, thus address'd.      Ah brother! thou art overtask'd, around      The walls of Troy by swift Achilles driven;      But stand, that we may chase him in his turn.[12]      To whom crest-tossing Hector huge replied.      Deiphobus! of all my father's sons      Brought forth by Hecuba, I ever loved      Thee most, but more than ever love thee now,      Who hast not fear'd, seeing me, for my sake      To quit the town, where others rest content.      To whom the Goddess, thus, cerulean-eyed.      Brother! our parents with much earnest suit      Clasping my knees, and all my friends implored me      To stay in Troy, (such fear hath seized on all)      But grief for thee prey'd on my inmost soul.      Come--fight we bravely--spare we now our spears      No longer; now for proof if Peleus' son      Slaying us both, shall bear into the fleet      Our arms gore-stain'd, or perish slain by thee.      So saying, the wily Goddess led the way.      They soon, approaching each the other, stood      Opposite, and huge Hector thus began.      Pelides! I will fly thee now no more.      Thrice I have compass'd Priam's spacious walls      A fugitive, and have not dared abide      Thy onset, but my heart now bids me stand      Dauntless, and I will slay, or will be slain.      But come. We will attest the Gods; for they      Are fittest both to witness and to guard      Our covenant. If Jove to me vouchsafe      The hard-earn'd victory, and to take thy life,      I will not with dishonor foul insult      Thy body, but, thine armor stripp'd, will give      Thee to thy friends, as thou shalt me to mine.      To whom Achilles, lowering dark, replied.      Hector! my bitterest foe! speak not to me      Of covenants! as concord can be none      Lions and men between, nor wolves and lambs      Can be unanimous, but hate perforce      Each other by a law not to be changed,      So cannot amity subsist between      Thee and myself; nor league make I with thee      Or compact, till thy blood in battle shed      Or mine, shall gratify the fiery Mars.      Rouse all thy virtue; thou hast utmost need      Of valor now, and of address in arms.      Escape me more thou canst not; Pallas' hand      By mine subdues thee; now will I avenge      At once the agonies of every Greek      In thy unsparing fury slain by thee.      He said, and, brandishing the Pelian ash,      Dismiss'd it; but illustrious Hector warn'd,      Crouched low, and, overflying him, it pierced      The soil beyond, whence Pallas plucking it      Unseen, restored it to Achilles' hand,      And Hector to his godlike foe replied.      Godlike Achilles! thou hast err'd, nor know'st      At all my doom from Jove, as thou pretend'st,      But seek'st, by subtlety and wind of words,      All empty sounds, to rob me of my might.      Yet stand I firm. Think not to pierce my back.      Behold my bosom! if the Gods permit,      Meet me advancing, and transpierce me there.      Meantime avoid my glittering spear, but oh      May'st thou receive it all! since lighter far      To Ilium should the toils of battle prove,      Wert thou once slain, the fiercest of her foes.      He said, and hurling his long spear with aim      Unerring, smote the centre of the shield      Of Peleus' son, but his spear glanced away.      He, angry to have sent it forth in vain,      (For he had other none) with eyes downcast      Stood motionless awhile, then with loud voice      Sought from Deiphobus, white-shielded Chief,      A second; but Deiphobus was gone.      Then Hector understood his doom, and said.      Ah, it is plain; this is mine hour to die.      I thought Deiphobus at hand, but me      Pallas beguiled, and he is still in Troy.      A bitter death threatens me, it is nigh,      And there is no escape; Jove, and Jove's son      Apollo, from the first, although awhile      My prompt deliverers, chose this lot for me,      And now it finds me. But I will not fall      Inglorious; I will act some great exploit      That shall be celebrated ages hence.      So saying, his keen falchion from his side      He drew, well-temper'd, ponderous, and rush'd      At once to combat. As the eagle darts      Right downward through a sullen cloud to seize      Weak lamb or timorous hare, so brandishing      His splendid falchion, Hector rush'd to fight.      Achilles, opposite, with fellest ire      Full-fraught came on; his shield with various art      Celestial form'd, o'erspread his ample chest,      And on his radiant casque terrific waved      The bushy gold of his resplendent crest,      By Vulcan spun, and pour'd profuse around.      Bright as, among the stars, the star of all      Most radiant, Hesperus, at midnight moves,      So, in the right hand of Achilles beam'd      His brandish'd spear, while, meditating wo      To Hector, he explored his noble form,      Seeking where he was vulnerable most.      But every part, his dazzling armor torn      From brave Patroclus' body, well secured,      Save where the circling key-bone from the neck      Disjoins the shoulder; there his throat appear'd,      Whence injured life with swiftest flight escapes;      Achilles, plunging in that part his spear,      Impell'd it through the yielding flesh beyond.      The ashen beam his power of utterance left      Still unimpair'd, but in the dust he fell,      And the exulting conqueror exclaim'd.      But Hector! thou hadst once far other hopes,      And, stripping slain Patroclus, thought'st thee safe,      Nor caredst for absent me. Fond dream and vain!      I was not distant far; in yonder fleet      He left one able to avenge his death,      And he hath slain thee. Thee the dogs shall rend      Dishonorably, and the fowls of air,      But all Achaia's host shall him entomb.      To whom the Trojan Chief languid replied.      By thy own life, by theirs who gave thee birth,      And by thy knees,[13] oh let not Grecian dogs      Rend and devour me, but in gold accept      And brass a ransom at my father's hands,      And at my mother's an illustrious price;      Send home my body, grant me burial rites      Among the daughters and the sons of Troy.      To whom with aspect stern Achilles thus.      Dog! neither knees nor parents name to me.      I would my fierceness of revenge were such,      That I could carve and eat thee, to whose arms      Such griefs I owe; so true it is and sure,      That none shall save thy carcase from the dogs.      No, trust me, would thy parents bring me weigh'd      Ten--twenty ransoms, and engage on oath      To add still more; would thy Dardanian Sire      Priam, redeem thee with thy weight in gold,      Not even at that price would I consent      That she who bare should place thee on thy bier      With lamentation; dogs and ravening fowls      Shall rend thy body while a scrap remains.      Then, dying, warlike Hector thus replied.      Full well I knew before, how suit of mine      Should speed preferr'd to thee. Thy heart is steel.      But oh, while yet thou livest, think, lest the Gods      Requite thee on that day, when pierced thyself      By Paris and Apollo, thou shalt fall,      Brave as thou art, before the Scan gate.      He ceased, and death involved him dark around.      His spirit, from his limbs dismiss'd, the house      Of Ades sought, mourning in her descent      Youth's prime and vigor lost, disastrous doom!      But him though dead, Achilles thus bespake.      Die thou. My death shall find me at what hour      Jove gives commandment, and the Gods above.      He spake, and from the dead drawing away      His brazen spear, placed it apart, then stripp'd      His arms gore-stain'd. Meantime the other sons      Of the Achaians, gathering fast around,      The bulk admired, and the proportion just      Of Hector; neither stood a Grecian there      Who pierced him not, and thus the soldier spake.      Ye Gods! how far more patient of the touch      Is Hector now, than when he fired the fleet!      Thus would they speak, then give him each a stab.      And now, the body stripp'd, their noble Chief      The swift Achilles standing in the midst,      The Grecians in wing'd accents thus address'd.      Friends, Chiefs and Senators of Argos' host!      Since, by the will of heaven, this man is slain      Who harm'd us more than all our foes beside,      Essay we next the city, so to learn      The Trojan purpose, whether (Hector slain)      They will forsake the citadel, or still      Defend it, even though of him deprived.      But wherefore speak I thus? still undeplored,      Unburied in my fleet Patroclus lies;      Him never, while alive myself, I mix      With living men and move, will I forget.      In Ades, haply, they forget the dead,      Yet will not I Patroclus, even there.      Now chanting pans, ye Achaian youths!      Return we to the fleet with this our prize;      We have achieved great glory,[14] we have slain      Illustrious Hector, him whom Ilium praised      In all her gates, and as a God revered.      He said; then purposing dishonor foul      To noble Hector, both his feet he bored      From heel to ancle, and, inserting thongs,      Them tied behind his chariot, but his head      Left unsustain'd to trail along the ground.      Ascending next, the armor at his side      He placed, then lash'd the steeds; they willing flew      Thick dust around the body dragg'd arose,      His sable locks all swept the plain, and all      His head, so graceful once, now track'd the dust,      For Jove had given it into hostile hands      That they might shame it in his native soil.[15]      Thus, whelm'd in dust, it went. The mother Queen      Her son beholding, pluck'd her hair away,      Cast far aside her lucid veil, and fill'd      With shrieks the air. His father wept aloud,      And, all around, long, long complaints were heard      And lamentations in the streets of Troy,      Not fewer or less piercing, than if flames      Had wrapt all Ilium to her topmost towers.      His people scarce detain'd the ancient King      Grief-stung, and resolute to issue forth      Through the Dardanian gates; to all he kneel'd      In turn, then roll'd himself in dust, and each      By name solicited to give him way.      Stand off, my fellow mourners! I would pass      The gates, would seek, alone, the Grecian fleet.      I go to supplicate the bloody man,      Yon ravager; he may respect, perchance,      My years, may feel some pity of my age;      For, such as I am, his own father is,      Peleus, who rear'd him for a curse to Troy,      But chiefly rear'd him to myself a curse,      So numerous have my sons in prime of youth      Fall'n by his hand, all whom I less deplore      (Though mourning all) than one; my agonies      For Hector soon shall send me to the shades.      Oh had he but within these arms expired,      The hapless Queen who bore him, and myself      Had wept him, then, till sorrow could no more!      So spake he weeping, and the citizens      All sigh'd around; next, Hecuba began      Amid the women, thus, her sad complaint.      Ah wherefore, oh my son! wretch that I am,      Breathe I forlorn of thee? Thou, night and day,      My glory wast in Ilium, thee her sons      And daughters, both, hail'd as their guardian God,      Conscious of benefits from thee received,      Whose life prolong'd should have advanced them all      To high renown. Vain boast! thou art no more.      So mourn'd the Queen. But fair Andromache      Nought yet had heard, nor knew by sure report      Hector's delay without the city gates.      She in a closet of her palace sat,      A twofold web weaving magnificent,      With sprinkled flowers inwrought of various hues,      And to her maidens had commandment given      Through all her house, that compassing with fire      An ample tripod, they should warm a bath      For noble Hector from the fight return'd.      Tenderness ill-inform'd! she little knew      That in the field, from such refreshments far,      Pallas had slain him by Achilles' hand.      She heard a cry of sorrow from the tower;      Her limbs shook under her, her shuttle fell,      And to her bright-hair'd train, alarm'd, she cried.      Attend me two of you, that I may learn      What hath befallen. I have heard the voice      Of the Queen-mother; my rebounding heart      Chokes me, and I seem fetter'd by a frost.      Some mischief sure o'er Priam's sons impends.      Far be such tidings from me! but I fear      Horribly, lest Achilles, cutting off      My dauntless Hector from the gates alone,      Enforce him to the field, and quell perhaps      The might, this moment, of that dreadful arm      His hinderance long; for Hector ne'er was wont      To seek his safety in the ranks, but flew      First into battle, yielding place to none.      So saying, she rush'd with palpitating heart      And frantic air abroad, by her two maids      Attended; soon arriving at the tower,      And at the throng of men, awhile she stood      Down-looking wistful from the city-wall,      And, seeing him in front of Ilium, dragg'd      So cruelly toward the fleet of Greece,      O'erwhelm'd with sudden darkness at the view      Fell backward, with a sigh heard all around.      Far distant flew dispersed her head-attire,      Twist, frontlet, diadem, and even the veil      By golden Venus given her on the day      When Hector led her from Etion's house      Enrich'd with nuptial presents to his home.      Around her throng'd her sisters of the house      Of Priam, numerous, who within their arms      Fast held her[16] loathing life; but she, her breath      At length and sense recovering, her complaint      Broken with sighs amid them thus began.      Hector! I am undone; we both were born      To misery, thou in Priam's house in Troy,      And I in Hypoplacian Thebes wood-crown'd      Beneath Etion's roof. He, doom'd himself      To sorrow, me more sorrowfully doom'd,      Sustain'd in helpless infancy, whom oh      That he had ne'er begotten! thou descend'st      To Pluto's subterraneous dwelling drear,      Leaving myself destitute, and thy boy,      Fruit of our hapless loves, an infant yet,      Never to be hereafter thy delight,      Nor love of thine to share or kindness more.      For should he safe survive this cruel war,      With the Achaians penury and toil      Must be his lot, since strangers will remove      At will his landmarks, and possess his fields.      Thee lost, he loses all, of father, both,      And equal playmate in one day deprived,      To sad looks doom'd, and never-ceasing-tears.      He seeks, necessitous his father's friends,      One by his mantle pulls, one by his vest,      Whose utmost pity yields to his parch'd lips      A thirst-provoking drop, and grudges more;      Some happier child, as yet untaught to mourn      A parent's loss, shoves rudely from the board      My son, and, smiting him, reproachful cries--      Away--thy father is no guest of ours--      Then, weeping, to his widow'd mother comes      Astyanax, who on his father's lap      Ate marrow only, once, and fat of lambs,[17]      And when sleep took him, and his crying fit      Had ceased, slept ever on the softest bed,      Warm in his nurse's arms, fed to his fill      With delicacies, and his heart at rest.      But now, Astyanax (so named in Troy      For thy sake, guardian of her gates and towers)      His father lost, must many a pang endure.      And as for thee, cast naked forth among      Yon galleys, where no parent's eye of thine      Shall find thee, when the dogs have torn thee once      Till they are sated, worms shall eat thee next.      Meantime, thy graceful raiment rich, prepared      By our own maidens, in thy palace lies;      But I will burn it, burn it all, because      Useless to thee, who never, so adorn'd,      Shalt slumber more; yet every eye in Troy      Shall see, how glorious once was thy attire.[18]      So, weeping, she; to whom the multitude      Of Trojan dames responsive sigh'd around.