Achilles (Mythological character); Classical literature; Epic poetry, Greek -- Translations into English; Trojan War
A dark cloud of grief fell upon Achilles as he listened. He
filled both hands with dust from off the ground, and poured it
over his head, disfiguring his comely face, and letting the
refuse settle over his shirt so fair and new. He flung himself
down all huge and hugely at full length, and tore his hair with
his hands. The bondswomen whom Achilles and Patroclus had taken
captive screamed aloud for grief, beating their breasts, and with
their limbs failing them for sorrow. Antilochus bent over him the
while, weeping and holding both his hands as he lay groaning for
he feared that he might plunge a knife into his own throat. Then
Achilles gave a loud cry and his mother heard him as she was
sitting in the depths of the sea by the old man her father,
whereon she screamed, and all the goddesses daughters of Nereus
that dwelt at the bottom of the sea, came gathering round her.
There were Glauce, Thalia and Cymodoce, Nesaia, Speo, Thoe and
dark-eyed Halie, Cymothoe, Actaea and Limnorea, Melite, Iaera,
Amphithoe and Agave, Doto and Proto, Pherusa and Dynamene,
Dexamene, Amphinome and Callianeira, Doris, Panope, and the
famous sea-nymph Galatea, Nemertes, Apseudes and Callianassa.
There were also Clymene, Ianeira and Ianassa, Maera, Oreithuia
and Amatheia of the lovely locks, with other Nereids who dwell in
the depths of the sea. The crystal cave was filled with their
multitude and they all beat their breasts while Thetis led them
in their lament.
“Listen,” she cried, “sisters, daughters of Nereus, that you may
hear the burden of my sorrows. Alas, woe is me, woe in that I
have borne the most glorious of offspring. I bore him fair and
strong, hero among heroes, and he shot up as a sapling; I tended
him as a plant in a goodly garden, and sent him with his ships to
Ilius to fight the Trojans, but never shall I welcome him back to
the house of Peleus. So long as he lives to look upon the light
of the sun he is in heaviness, and though I go to him I cannot
help him. Nevertheless I will go, that I may see my dear son and
learn what sorrow has befallen him though he is still holding
aloof from battle.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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