It Behooves A Father To

Yet, Taught By Time, My Heart Has Learned To Glow For Other's Good, And Melt At Other's Woe.

If Not Yet Lost To All The Sense Of Shame.

Don't Mess With The Dead, Boy, They Have Eerie Powers.

Sing, O Muse, Of The Rage Of Achilles, Son Of Peleus, That Brought Countless Ills Upon The Achaeans.

But You, Achilles,/ There Is Not A Man In The World More Blest Than You--/ There Never Has Been, Never Will Be One./ Time Was, When You Were Alive, We Argives/ Honored You As A God, And Now Down Here, I See/ You Lord It Over The Dead In All Your Power./ So Grieve No More At Dying, Great Achilles.’ I Reassured The Ghost, But He Broke Out Protesting,/ ‘no Winning Words About Death To Me, Shining Odysseus!/ By God, I’d Rather Slave On Earth For Another Man--/ Some Dirt-poor Tenant Farmer Who Scrapes To Keep Alive—than Rule Down Here Over All The Breathless Dead.