“Patroclus, dear to my unhappy heart! I left thee in full life, when from this tent They led me; I return and find thee dead, O chieftain of the people! Thus it is That sorrow upon sorrow is my lot. Him to whose arms my father, in my youth, And gracious mother gave me as a bride, I saw before our city pierced and slain, And the three brothers whom my mother bore Slain also⁠—brothers whom I dearly loved. Yet thou, when swift Achilles struck to earth My hapless husband, and laid waste the town Of godlike Mynes, wouldst not suffer me To weep despairingly; for thou didst give Thy word to make me yet the wedded wife Of great Achilles, bear me in the fleet To Phthia, and prepare the wedding feast Among the Myrmidons. O ever kind! I mourn thy death, and cannot be consoled.”