Aubade for Anzacs

Now from the gently-swelling flood profound
The sun arising, with his earliest rays
In his ascent to heaven smote on the fields
When Greeks and Trojans met. Scarce could the slain
Be clear distinguish'd, but they cleansed from each
His clotted gore with water, and warm tears
Distilling copious, heaved them to the wains.
But wailing none was heard, for such command
Had Priam issued; therefore heaping high
The bodies, silent and with sorrowing hearts
They burn'd them, and to sacred Troy return'd.
(From William Cowper's translation of Homer's Iliad)