The Iliad 19.338–341

And as they mourned the son of Cronos had sight of them, and was touched with pity; and forthwith he spake winged words unto Athene: My child, lo thou forsakest utterly thine own warrior. Is there then no place in thy thought any more for Achilles? Yonderhe sitteth in front of his ships with upright horns, mourning for his dear comrade; the others verily are gone to their meal but he fasteth and will have naught of food. Nay go, shed thou into his breast nectar and pleasant ambrosia, that hunger-pangs come not upon him.