Wrath and revenge from men and gods remove;

Far, far too dear to every mortal breast,

Sweet to the soul, as honey to the taste :

Gathering like vapours of a noxious kind

Form fiery blood, and darkening all the mind.

Me Agamemnon urged to deadly hate;

‘Tis past–I quell it; I resign to fate.

Yes–I will meet the murderer of my friend;

Or (if the gods ordain it) meet my end.

The stroke of fate the bravest cannot shun :

The great Alcides, Jore's unequal's son,

To Juno's hate, at length resign'd his breath.

And sunk the victim of all-conquering death.

So shall Achilles fall! Stretch'd pale and dead,

No more the Grecian hope, or Trojan dread!

Let me, this instant, rush into the fields,

And reap what glory life's short harvest yields.

Shall I not force some widow'd dame to tear

With frantic hands her long dishevel’d hair?

Shall I not force her breast to heave with sighs,

And the soft tears to trickle from her eyes?

Yes, I shall give the fair those mournful charms-

In vain you hold me–Hence! my arms, my arms!-

Soon shall the sanguine torrent spread so wide,

That all shall know, Achilles swells the tide.”

–কী হেতু হেথা সশরীরে আজি

রঘুকুলচূড়ামণি? অন্যায় সমরে

সংহারিলে মোরে তুমি তুষিতে সুগ্রীবে;

কিন্তু দূর করো ভয়, এ কৃতান্ত পুরে

নাহি জানি ক্রোধ মোরা, জিতেন্দ্রিয় সবে।