Far from his own land he fell, And longed for me to rescue him. And now, Since I am never more to see the land I love, and since I went not to defend Patroclus, nor the other Greeks, my friends, Of whom so many have fallen by the hand Of noble Hector, but beside the fleet Am sitting here, a useless weight on earth, Mighty in battle as I am beyond The other Grecian warriors, though excelled By other men in council—would that Strife Might perish among gods and men, with Wrath, Which makes even wise men cruel, and, though sweet At first as dropping honey, growing, fills The heart with its foul smoke. Such was my rage, Aroused by Agamemnon, king of men. Yet now, though great my wrong, let things like these Rest with the past, and, as the time requires, Let us subdue the spirit in our breasts. I go in quest of Hector, by whose hand My friend was slain. My death will I accept Whene’er to Jove and to the other gods It shall seem good to send it. Hercules, Though mighty and beloved of Jupiter, The son of Saturn, could not shun his death, For fate and Juno’s cruel wrath prevailed Against him. I shall lie in death like him, If a like fate be measured out for me. Yet now shall I have glory; I shall do What many a Trojan and Dardanian dame, Deep-bosomed, wiping with both hands the tears From their fair cheeks, shall bitterly lament; And well shall they perceive that, till this hour, I paused from war. Thou lov’st me; but seek not To keep me from the field, for that were vain.”
The silver-footed Thetis thus rejoined: “Truly, my son, thy purpose is not ill, To rescue thy endangered friends from death. But with the Trojans are thy beautiful arms, Brazen and dazzling bright; their crested chief, Hector, exults to wear them: no long space, I think, will he exult; his death is near. Yet go not to the battle-field until Thine eyes shall look upon me yet again. I come tomorrow with the sun, and bring Bright arms, the work of Vulcan’s royal hand.”
So having said, and turning from her son, She thus bespake her sisters of the sea: “Return to the broad bosom of the deep, To its gray Ancient and