“O grace and glory of the Achaian name; What drives thee, Nestor, from the field of fame? Shall then proud Hector see his boast fulfill’d, Our fleets in ashes, and our heroes kill’d? Such was his threat, ah! now too soon made good, On many a Grecian bosom writ in blood. Is every heart inflamed with equal rage Against your king, nor will one chief engage? And have I lived to see with mournful eyes In every Greek a new Achilles rise?”