Let each deplore his dead; the rites of woe

Are all, alas! the living can bestow;

O’er the congenial dust enjoin’d to shear

The graceful curl, and drop the tender tear.

Then, mingling in the mournful pomp with you,

I’ll pay my brother’s ghost a warrior’s due,

And mourn the brave Antilochus, a name

Not unrecorded in the rolls of fame;

With strength and speed superior form’d, in fight

To face the foe, or intercept his flight;

Too early snatch’d by fate ere known to me!

I boast a witness of his worth in thee.”


“Young and mature! (the monarch thus rejoins,)

In thee renew’d the soul of Nestor shines;

Form’d by the care of that consummate sage,

In early bloom an oracle of age.

Whene’er his influence Jove vouchsafes to shower,

To bless the natal and the nuptial hour;

From the great sire transmissive to the race,

The boon devolving gives distinguish’d grace.

Such, happy Nestor! was thy glorious doom,

Around thee, full of years, thy offspring bloom.

Expert of arms, and prudent in debate;

The gifts of Heaven to guard thy hoary state.

But now let each becalm his troubled breast,

Wash, and partake serene the friendly feast.

To move thy suit, Telemachus, delay,

Till heaven’s revolving lamp restores the day.”


He said, Asphalion swift the laver brings;

Alternate, all partake the grateful springs;

Then from the rites of purity repair,

And with keen gust the savoury viands share.

Meantime, with genial joy to warm the soul,

Bright Helen mix’d a mirth inspiring bowl;

Temper’d with drugs of sovereign use, to assuage

The boiling bosom of tumultuous rage;

To clear the cloudy front of wrinkled Care,

And dry the tearful sluices of Despair;

Charm’d with that virtuous draught, the exalted mind

All sense of woe delivers to the wind.

Though on the blazing pile his parent lay,

Or a loved brother groan’d his life away,

Or darling son, oppress’d by ruffian force,

Fell breathless at his feet, a mangled corse;