When, with a mortal mother's helpless tears,
⁠Thetis, the silver-footed, to her son
⁠Revealed the choice in death he might not shun;
⁠The goddess-born, longing for lengthened years
In his own land, with all that life endears—
⁠Renounced Earth's breathing pleasures new begun,
⁠And chose to die in youth, each conflict won,
⁠Leaving a fame no blight autumnal sears.

The Argives sleep, the Trojan hosts are dumb,
⁠And no man knows where Homer's ashes be;
⁠Yet, echoing down the list'ning ages, come—
E'en to this distant nineteenth century—
⁠The hero's words by warlike Ilium,
⁠And strengthen others in their need, and me!