Nor Nestor's son with tearless eyes remain'd,
Calling to mind Antilochus[1] by the son[2]
Illustrious of the bright Aurora slain,
Rememb'ring whom, in accents wing'd he said. 235
Atrides! antient Nestor, when of late
Conversing with him, we remember'd thee,
Pronounced thee wise beyond all human-kind.
Now therefore, let not even my advice
Displease thee. It affords me no delight 240
To intermingle tears with my repast,
And soon, Aurora, daughter of the dawn,
Will tinge the orient. Not that I account
Due lamentation of a friend deceased
Blameworthy, since, to shear the locks and weep, 245
Is all we can for the unhappy dead.
I also have my grief, call'd to lament
One, not the meanest of Achaia's sons,
My brother; him I cannot but suppose
To thee well-known, although unknown to me 250
Who saw [3]him never; but report proclaims
Antilochus superior to the most,
In speed superior, and in feats of arms.
To whom, the Hero of the yellow locks.
O friend belov'd! since nought which thou hast said 255
Or recommended now, would have disgraced
A man
