Still at his side is Nestor’s son survey’d,

And loved Patroclus still attends his shade.


New as they were to that infernal shore,

The suitors stopp’d, and gazed the hero o’er.

When, moving slow, the regal form they view’d

Of great Atrides: him in pomp pursued

And solemn sadness through the gloom of hell,

The train of those who by AEgysthus fell:


“O mighty chief! (Pelides thus began)

Honour’d by Jove above the lot of man!

King of a hundred kings! to whom resign’d

The strongest, bravest, greatest of mankind

Comest thou the first, to view this dreary state?

And was the noblest, the first mark of Fate,

Condemn’d to pay the great arrear so soon,

The lot, which all lament, and none can shun!

Oh! better hadst thou sunk in Trojan ground,

With all thy full-blown honours cover’d round;

Then grateful Greece with streaming eyes might raise

Historic marbles to record thy praise:

Thy praise eternal on the faithful stone

Had with transmissive glories graced thy son.

But heavier fates were destined to attend:

What man is happy, till he knows his end?”


“O son of Peleus! greater than mankind!

(Thus Agamemnon’s kingly shade rejoin’d)

Thrice happy thou, to press the martial plain

’Midst heaps of heroes in thy quarrel slain:

In clouds of smoke raised by the noble fray,

Great and terrific e’en in death you lay,

And deluges of blood flow’d round you every way.

Nor ceased the strife till Jove himself opposed,

And all in Tempests the dire evening closed.

Then to the fleet we bore thy honour’d load,

And decent on the funeral bed bestow’d;

Then unguents sweet and tepid streams we shed;

Tears flow’d from every eye, and o’er the dead

Each clipp’d the curling honours of his head.

Struck at the news, thy azure mother came,

The sea-green sisters waited on the dame:

A voice of loud lament through all the main

Was heard; and terror seized the Grecian train:

Back to their ships the frighted host had fled;