“O Jupiter and all ye deities, Vouchsafe that this my son may yet become Among the Trojans eminent like me, And nobly rule in Ilium. May they say, ‘This man is greater than his father was!’ When they behold him from the battle-field Bring back the bloody spoil of the slain foe⁠— That so his mother may be glad at heart.”

So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouse He gave the boy; she on her fragrant breast Received him, weeping as she smiled. The chief Beheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothed Her forehead gently with his hand and said:⁠—

“Sorrow not thus, beloved one, for me. No living man can send me to the shades Before my time; no man of woman born, Coward or brave, can shun his destiny. But go thou home, and tend thy labors there⁠— The web, the distaff⁠—and command thy maids To speed the work: The cares of war pertain To all men born in Troy, and most to me.”