Achilles

WHEN, with a mortal mother's helpless tears, Thetis, the silver-footed, to her son Revealed the choice in death he might not shun; The goddess-born, longing for lengthened years In 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!