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İngilizce İngilizce Latince

Şiir 64

no love bound lovers with such pact, as abides with Thetis, as is the concord of Peleus. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! To you will Achilles be born, a stranger to fear, to his foes known not by his back, but by his strong breast, 335

who, often the victor in the uncertain struggle of the foot-race, will outrun the fire-fleet footsteps of the speedy doe. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! None in war with him may compare as a hero, when the Phrygian streams trickle with Trojan blood, 340

and when besieging the walls of Troy with a long, drawn-out warfare perjured Pelops’ third heir lays that city waste. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! Often will mothers attest over funeral-rites of their sons his glorious acts and illustrious deeds, 345

when the white locks from their heads are unloosed amid ashes, and they bruise their discoloured breasts with feeble fists. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! For as the reaper, plucking off the dense wheat-ears before their time, mows the harvest yellowed beneath ardent sun, 350

so will he cast prostrate the corpses of Troy’s sons with grim swords. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! His great valour will be attested by Scamander’s wave, which ever pours itself into the swift Hellespont, narrowing its course with slaughtered heaps of corpses 355

he shall make tepid its deep stream by mingling warm blood with the water. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! And finally she will be a witness: the captive-maid handed to death, when the heaped-up tomb of earth built in lofty mound receives the snowy limbs of the stricken virgin. 360

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Şiir 64

Şifre Yenileme