Far in the deep abysses of the main,[251] With hoary Nereus, and the watery train, The mother-goddess from her crystal throne Heard his loud cries, and answer’d groan for groan. The circling Nereids with their mistress weep, And all the sea-green sisters of the deep. Thalia, Glauce (every watery name), Nesaea mild, and silver Spio came: Cymothoe and Cymodoce were nigh, And the blue languish of soft Alia’s eye. Their locks Actaea and Limnoria rear, Then Proto, Doris, Panope appear, Thoa, Pherusa, Doto, Melita; Agave gentle, and Amphithoe gay: Next Callianira, Callianassa show Their sister looks; Dexamene the slow, And swift Dynamene, now cut the tides: Iaera now the verdant wave divides: Nemertes with Apseudes lifts the head, Bright Galatea quits her pearly bed; These Orythia, Clymene, attend, Maera, Amphinome, the train extend; And black Janira, and Janassa fair, And Amatheia with her amber hair. All these, and all that deep in ocean held Their sacred seats, the glimmering grotto fill’d; Each beat her ivory breast with silent woe, Till Thetis’ sorrows thus began to flow: “Hear me, and judge, ye sisters of the main! How just a cause has Thetis to complain! How wretched, were I mortal, were my fate! How more than wretched in the immortal state! Sprung from my bed a godlike hero came, The bravest far that ever bore the name; Like some fair olive, by my careful hand He grew, he flourish’d and adorn’d the land! To Troy I sent him: but the fates ordain He never, never must return again. So short a space the light of heaven to view, So short, alas! and fill’d with anguish too! Hear how his sorrows echo through the shore! I cannot ease them, but I must deplore; I go at least to bear a tender part, And mourn my loved-one with a mother’s heart.” She said, and left the caverns of the main, All bathed in tears; the melancholy train Attend her way. Wide-opening part the tides, While the long pomp the silver wave divides. Approaching now, they touch’d the Trojan land; Then, two by two, ascended up the strand. The immortal mother, standing close beside Her mournful offspring, to his sighs replied; Along the coast their mingled clamours ran, And thus the silver-footed dame began: “Why mourns my son? thy late preferr’d request The god has granted, and the Greeks distress’d: Why mourns my son? thy anguish let me share, Reveal the cause, and trust a parent’s care.”