Nine days they wailed dead Hector, the betrayed Of cold Minerva to the Pelian spear. A false Deïphobus she personed here, Yet, might the true have seen a coward made? Might not the glorious and heroic shade That soared from Hector's fire-englutted bier Down darkest Styx have wailed then, "Brother dear, Better thy scorn, my recreance to have stayed!" For Love hath strength or weakness in his hands. Friends may prove foes, foes the best friends at need. Keep then eternal vigil, Man! Advise Thine heart, until its turmoil understands, There is no choice save thine own soul's indeed In the last trench, while still thy pennon flies! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MISS MILLY O'NAIRE by WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER THE PHILOSOPHER by BERTON BRALEY THE HEART O' THE WOODS by JOHN BURROUGHS AND THE WOMEN PRAYED by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT EPIGRAM: 19. NICOTELES by CALLIMACHUS |