He spake; his words awoke in every heart Grief for the absent hero’s sake. Then wept The Argive Helen, child of Jove; then wept Telemachus; nor tearless were the eyes Of Nestor’s son, for to his mind arose The memory of the good Antilochus, Slain by the bright Aurora’s eminent son; Of him he thought, and spake these winged words:—
“O son of Atreus! aged Nestor saith, When in his palace we discourse of thee And ask each other’s thought, that thou art wise Beyond all other men. Now, if thou mayst, Indulge me, for not willingly I weep Thus at the evening feast, and soon will Morn, Child of the Dawn, appear.
I do not blame This sorrow for whoever meets his fate And dies; the only honors we can pay To those unhappy mortals is to shred Our locks away, and wet our cheeks with tears.
I lost a brother, not the least in worth Among the Argives, whom thou must have seen. I knew him not: I never saw his face; Yet is it said Antilochus excelled The others; swift of foot, and brave in war.”
The fair-haired Menelaus answered him:— “Since thou my friend hast spoken thus, as one Discreet in word and deed, of riper years Than thou, might speak and act—for thou art born Of such a father, and thy words are wise— And easy is it to discern the son Of one on whom Saturnius has bestowed Both at the birth-hour and in wedded life His blessing; as he gives to Nestor now A calm old age that lapses pleasantly, Within his palace-halls, from day to day, And sons wise-minded, mighty with the spear— Then let us lay aside this sudden grief That has o’ertaken us, and only think Of banqueting. Let water now be poured Upon our hands; there will be time enough Tomorrow for discourse; Telemachus And I will then engage in mutual talk.”
He spake, Asphalion, who with diligent heed Served the great Menelaus, on their hands Poured water, and they shared the meats that lay Upon the board. But Helen, Jove-born dame, Had other thoughts, and with