Down From His Brow She Ran His

If You Are One Of Earth’s Inhabitants, How Blest Your Father, And Your Gentle Mother, Blest All Your Kin. I Know What Happiness Must Send The Warm Tears To Their Eyes, Each Time They See Their Wondrous Child Go To The Dancing! But One Man’s Destiny Is More Than Blest—he Who Prevails, And Takes You As His Bride. Never Have I Laid Eyes On Equal Beauty In Man Or Woman. I Am Hushed Indeed.

The Lot Of Man-to Suffer And Die.

I Live An Idle Burden To The Ground.

The Gods, Likening Themselves To All Kinds Of Strangers, Go In Various Disguises From City To City, Observing The Wrongdoing And The Righteousness Of Men.

But You, Achilles,/ There Is Not A Man In The World More Blest Than You--/ There Never Has Been, Never Will Be One./ Time Was, When You Were Alive, We Argives/ Honored You As A God, And Now Down Here, I See/ You Lord It Over The Dead In All Your Power./ So Grieve No More At Dying, Great Achilles.’ I Reassured The Ghost, But He Broke Out Protesting,/ ‘no Winning Words About Death To Me, Shining Odysseus!/ By God, I’d Rather Slave On Earth For Another Man--/ Some Dirt-poor Tenant Farmer Who Scrapes To Keep Alive—than Rule Down Here Over All The Breathless Dead.