“Ye gods! A great calamity hath fallen Upon Achaia. How the aged chief Peleus, the illustrious counsellor and sage, Who rules the Myrmidons, will now lament!⁠— He who once gladly in his palace-home Inquired of me the race and pedigree Of the Greek warriors. Were he but to know That all of them are basely cowering now In Hector’s presence, how would he uplift His hands and pray the gods that from his limbs The parted soul might pass to the abode Of Pluto! Would to Father Jupiter And Pallas and Apollo that again I were as young as when the Pylian host And the Arcadians, mighty with the spear, Fought on the banks of rapid Celadon And near to Phaea and Iardan’s streams. There godlike Ereuthalion stood among Our foremost foes, and on his shoulders bore The armor of King Areïthoüs⁠— The noble Areïthoüs, whom men And graceful women called the Mace-bearer; For not with bow he fought, nor ponderous lance, But broke the phalanxes with iron mace.