And the son of Peleus, the only son
Whom Thetis the deathless Goddess bore
In Phthia to him—from that glorious one
The arrow in battle his sweet life tore;
And the Danaans’ wail rang loud, as they yearned
For their mightiest lost, on the pyre as he burned.
Now if any of mortals by wisdom’s lore
The way of truth in his soul hath discerned,
Well may he be happy, if God bestow
The fortune fair by the Blessèd given.
Yet ever the blasts veer to and fro
Of the winds that fly o’er the fields of heaven.
Not long doth the bliss of mortals endure,
Yea, though it have come in full measure, and pure
From sorrow’s leaven.