Without a choice they mete our doom,
Our woe or welfare Hazard gives--
Patroclus slumbers in the tomb,
And all unharm'd Thersites lives.
While luck and life to every one
Blind Fate dispenses, well may they
Enjoy the life and luck to day
By whom the prize is won!

"Yes, war will still devour the best!--
Brother, remember'd in this hour!
His shade should be in feasts a guest,
Whose form was in the strife a tower!
What time our ships the Trojan fired,
Thine arm to Greece the safety gave--
The prize to which thy soul aspired,
The crafty wrested from the brave.[3]
Peace to thine ever-holy rest--
Not thine to fall before the foe!
Ajax alone laid Ajax low:
Ah--wrath destroys the best!"

To his dead sire--(the Dorian king)--
The bright-hair'd Pyrrhus[4] pours the wine:--
"Of every lot that life can bring,
My soul, great Father, prizes thine.
Whate'er the goods of earth, of all,
The highest and the holiest--FAME!
For when the Form in dust shall fall,
O'er dust triumphant lives the Name!