“Atrides, we had thought that Jove, who wields The thunder, favored thee, through all thy years, Beyond all other men—thou didst bear rule Over so many and such valiant men Upon the plain of Troy, where we of Greece Endured such sufferings.
Yet all too soon The cruel doom of death, which no man born Of woman can escape, has fallen on thee.
O, if amid the honors of thy sway That doom had overtaken thee, while yet In Troy’s far realm, then would the assembled Greeks Have built a tomb to thee! Thou wouldst have left A heritage of glory to thy son; Now hast thou died a most unhappy death.”
And then the soul of Agamemnon said: “Fortunate son of Peleus, godlike chief Achilles, who didst die upon the field Of Ilium, far from Argos, while there fell Around thee many of the bravest sons Of Troy and Greece, who fought for thee, and thou Wert lying in thy mighty bulk, amid Whirlwinds of dust, forgetful evermore Of horsemanship. All that day long we fought, Nor stayed our hands till Jove, to part us, sent A hurricane. When we had borne thee thence And brought thee to the fleet, upon a bier We laid thee, pouring o’er thy shapely limbs Warm water, and anointing them with oil. Round thee the Achaians stood in tears, hot tears, And cut their hair away. From ocean’s depth Thy mother, when she heard the tidings, rose With her immortal sea-nymphs. Mournfully Came o’er the waves the sound of their lament. Trembled the Greeks with fear, and, rushing forth, Would have sought refuge in their roomy ships, If Nestor, wise in ancient lore, and known For counsels ever safe, had not restrained Their haste, and thus declared his prudent thought:—
“ ‘Stay, Argives, youths of Greece; think not of flight! It is his mother; from the sea she comes To her dead son, and brings her deathless nymphs.’