I.

Parental anguish rends my breast, For thee my son, my son, I grieve, Thy mother sinks with woes oppressed. Why didst thou take this road, why leave Thy home, and march to Ilion’s gate, Where death did thy arrival wait? Oft with maternal zeal I strove Thy luckless courage to restrain, And oft thy sire opposed in vain. But now with ineffectual love, My dearest son, thee now no more, Thee, O my son, must I deplore.

CHOR. As far as bosoms, by no kindred ties United, can partake a mother’s grief, Do I bewail thy son’s untimely fate.

MUSE.