Note (return) — BOOK THE EIGHTEENTH.

“Hear, sister Nereïdes, that hearing ye may all well know what griefs are in my mind. Woe is me wretched! woe is me who have in an evil hour brought forth the bravest [of men], I who, after having borne a son, blameless and valiant, the chief of heroes, and he grew up 572 like a young tree: having reared him like a sapling in a fruitful spot of a field, I afterwards sent him forth in the curved ships to Ilium, to fight against the Trojans; but I shall not receive him again, having returned home to the palace of Peleus. But whilst he lives and beholds the light of the sun, he grieves, 573 nor can I, going to him, avail him aught. Yet will I go, that I may see my beloved son, and hear what grief comes upon him remaining away from the battle.”