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Rh And lead out all the captains to ride by

Thy tomb.' Why didst thou cheat me so? 'Tis I,

Old, homeless, childless, that for thee must shed

Cold tears, so young, so miserably dead.

Dear God, the pattering welcomes of thy feet,

The nursing in my lap; and O, the sweet

Falling asleep together! All is gone.

How should a poet carve the funeral stone

To tell thy story true? 'There lieth here

A babe whom the Greeks feared, and in their fear

Slew him.' Aye, Greece will bless the tale it tells!

Child, they have left thee beggared of all else

In Hector's house; but one thing shalt thou keep,

This war-shield bronzen-barred, wherein to sleep.

Alas, thou guardian true of Hector's fair

Left arm, how art thou masterless! And there

I see his handgrip printed on thy hold;

And deep stains of the precious sweat, that rolled

In battle from the brows and beard of him,

Drop after drop, are writ about thy rim.

Go, bring them—such poor garments hazardous

As these days leave. God hath not granted us

Wherewith to make much pride. But all I can,

I give thee, Child of Troy.—O vain is man,

Who glorieth in his joy and hath no fears:

While to and fro the chances of the years

Dance like an idiot in the wind! And none

By any strength hath his own fortune won.