The mournful mother next sustains her part: “O thou, the best, the dearest to my heart! Of all my race thou most by heaven approved, And by the immortals even in death beloved! While all my other sons in barbarous bands Achilles bound, and sold to foreign lands, This felt no chains, but went a glorious ghost, Free, and a hero, to the Stygian coast. Sentenced, ’tis true, by his inhuman doom, Thy noble corse was dragg’d around the tomb; (The tomb of him thy warlike arm had slain;) Ungenerous insult, impotent and vain! Yet glow’st thou fresh with every living grace; No mark of pain, or violence of face: Rosy and fair! as Phœbus’ silver bow Dismiss’d thee gently to the shades below.”