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The Iliad of Homer - Get a Free Blog

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(Dire pomp <strong>of</strong> sovereign wretchedness!)<br />

must fall,<br />

And stain the pavement <strong>of</strong> my regal<br />

hall;<br />

Where famish'd dogs, late guardians<br />

<strong>of</strong> my door,<br />

Shall lick their mangled master's<br />

spatter'd gore.<br />

Yet for my sons I thank ye, gods!<br />

'tis well;<br />

Well have they perish'd, for in fight<br />

they fell.<br />

Who dies in youth and vigour, dies<br />

the best,<br />

Struck through with wounds, all<br />

honest on the breast.<br />

But when the fates, in fulness <strong>of</strong><br />

their rage,<br />

Spurn the hoar head <strong>of</strong> unresisting<br />

age,<br />

In dust the reverend lineaments deform,

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