Achilles

WHEN, with a mortal mother's helpless tears,Thetis, the silver-footed, to her sonRevealed the choice in death he might not shun;The goddess-born, longing for lengthened yearsIn his own land, with all that life endears—Renounced Earth's breathing pleasures new begun,And chose to die in youth, each conflict won,Leaving a fame no blight autumnal sears.

The Argives sleep, the Trojan hosts are dumb,And no man knows where Homer's ashes be;Yet, echoing down the list'ning ages, come—E'en to this distant nineteenth century—The hero's words by warlike Ilium,And strengthen others, in their need, and me!