He spake, and a black cloud of sorrow came Over the chieftain. Grasping in both hands The ashes of the hearth, he showered them o’er His head, and soiled with them his noble face. They clung in dark lumps to his comely vest. Prone in the dust of earth, at his full length, And tearing his disordered hair, he lay. Then wailed aloud the maidens whom in war He and Patroclus captured. Forth they came, And, thronging round him, smote their breasts and swooned. Antilochus mourned also, and shed tears, Holding Achilles by the hand, for much His generous nature dreaded that the chief Might aim at his own throat the sword he wore.
Loud were the hero’s cries, and in the deep His gracious mother, where she sat beside Her aged father, heard them. She too raised A wail of sorrow. All the goddesses, Daughters of Nereus, dwelling in the depths Of ocean, gathered to her side. There came Glaucè, Thaleia, and Cymodocè, Nesaea, Speio, Halia with large eyes, And Thoa, and Cymothoë; nor stayed Actaea, Limnoreia, Melita, Amphithoë, Iaera, Agavè, Doto, and Proto, and Dynamenè. There came Dexamene, Amphinomè, Pherusa, Callianira, Panopè, Doris, and Galateia, the renowned. With these Nemertes and Apseudes came, And Callianassa. Clymenè was there, Janeira and Janassa, and with them Maera, and Amatheia with bright hair, And Orithya, and whoever else, Children of Nereus, bide within the deep. The concourse filled the glimmering cave; they beat Their bosoms, while the sorrowing Thetis spake:—
“Hear, sister Nereids, that ye all may know The sharpness of my sorrows. Woe is me, Unhappy! Woe is me! In evil hour, The mother of a hero—me who gave Birth to so noble and so brave a son, The first among the warriors, saw him grow Like a green sapling, reared him like a plant Within a fruitful field, and sent him forth With his beaked ships to Ilium and the war Against the Trojans. Never shall I see That son returning to his home, the halls Of Peleus. While he lives and sees the light Of day his lot is sorrow, nor can I Help him in aught, though at his side; and yet I go to look on my beloved son, And learn from him what grief, while he remains Aloof from war, o’ertakes him in his tent.”