In Ilium’s populous town in time of peace, Ere the Greeks came, nor all the stores contained Within the stony threshold of the god Who bears the bow, Apollo, on the coast Of rocky Pytho. We may gather spoil Of oxen and of fatling sheep, and bring Tripods from war, and yellow-manèd steeds: The breath of man no force can seize or hold, And when it leaves the enclosure of the teeth It comes not back. My mother said to me⁠— The goddess, silver-footed Thetis, said⁠— A twofold fate conducts me to my death;⁠— If I remain to fight beneath the walls Of Ilium, my return will be cut off, But deathless my renown; if I return To the dear land in which my fathers dwell, My glory will be nought, but long my life, And late will come to me the stroke of death. And now I counsel all to sail for home, For never will ye see the overthrow Of lofty Ilium. Jove the Thunderer Stretches his great hand o’er her, and her sons Take courage. Go ye now, and take with you This message to the princes of the Greeks⁠—