Hermes of Cyllene summoned the ghosts of the suitors. In his hand he held the fair golden wand with which he seals men's eyes in sleep or wakes them as he will. With it he roused and led them, and they followed gibbering — like bats squealing in a cave when one falls from the cluster where they hang.
They passed the streams of Ocean and the White Rock, past the gates of the Sun and the land of dreams, and came to the meadow of asphodel where the ghosts dwell. There they found the ghost of Achilles son of Peleus, with those of Patroclus, Antilochus, and Aias.
They gathered about Achilles. The ghost of Agamemnon joined them, sorrowing, and about him the ghosts of those who had died with him in Aegisthus's house. Achilles spoke first.
Son of Atreus, he said, we used to say Zeus loved you better than any other hero, for you captained many brave men before Troy. Yet death took you too early. Better had you fallen at Troy in the height of your renown; the Achaeans would have built a mound over your ashes, and your son would have inherited your name. As it is, you died a most pitiful death.
Happy son of Peleus, Agamemnon answered, you died at Troy far from Argos, while the bravest fell around you fighting for your body. We fought all day until Zeus sent a storm. Then we bore you to the ships, cleansed you, and the Danaans wept and cut their hair. Your mother came from the sea with the nymphs; the Muses raised a lament; for seventeen days we mourned you, and on the eighteenth we gave you to the flames.
We gathered your white bones into a golden urn your mother gave — mixed with Patroclus's, and Antilochus apart. Over them the Argives built a splendid tomb on a headland by the Hellespont, so it might be seen from far at sea. Your mother set prizes from the gods. So you did not lose your name in death. But what joy is that to me? On my return Zeus planned a dismal end at the hands of Aegisthus and my merciless wife.