Ever to keep in silence that I count
Towards my son, craven of cravens—her
Whom it behooved go bring the young ones here
Fire, spears, arms—in exchange for seas made safe,
And cleansings of the land, his labor's price.
But fire, spears, arms,—O children, neither Thebes
Nor Hellas has them for you! 'T is myself,
A feeble friend, ye look to: nothing now
But a tongue's murmur, for the strength is gone
We had once, and with age are limbs a-shake