Vex’d that his mother cursed him; for, with grief 705
Frantic, his mother importuned the Gods
To avenge her slaughter’d brothers[17] on his head. 
Oft would she smite the earth, while on her knees
Seated, she fill’d her bosom with her tears,
And call’d on Pluto and dread Proserpine 710
To slay her son; nor vain was that request,
But by implacable Erynnis heard
Roaming the shades of Erebus.  Ere long
The tumult and the deafening din of war
Roar’d at the gates, and all the batter’d towers 715
Resounded.  Then the elders of the town
Dispatch’d the high-priests of the Gods to plead
With Meleager for his instant aid,
With strong assurances of rich reward. 
Where Calydon afforded fattest soil 720
They bade him choose to his own use a farm
Of fifty measured acres, vineyard half,
And half of land commodious for the plow. 
Him Oeneus also, warrior grey with age,
Ascending to his chamber, and his doors 725
Smiting importunate, with earnest prayers
Assay’d to soften, kneeling to his son. 
Nor less his sisters woo’d him to relent,
Nor less his mother; but in vain; he grew
Still more obdurate.  His companions last, 730
The most esteem’d and dearest of his friends,
The same suit urged, yet he persisted still
Relentless, nor could even they prevail. 
But when the battle shook his chamber-doors
And the Curetes climbing the high towers 735
Had fired the spacious city, then with tears
The beauteous Cleopatra, and with prayers
Assail’d him; in his view she set the woes
Numberless of a city storm’d—­the men
Slaughter’d, the city burnt to dust, the chaste 740
Matrons with all their children dragg’d away. 
That dread recital roused him, and at length
Issuing, he put his radiant armor on. 
Thus Meleager, gratifying first
His own resentment from a fatal day 745
Saved the AEtolians, who the promised gift
Refused him, and his toils found no reward. 
But thou, my son, be wiser; follow thou
No demon who would tempt thee to a course
Like his; occasion more propitious far 750
Smiles on thee now, than if the fleet were fired. 
Come, while by gifts invited, and receive
From all the host, the honors of a God;
For shouldst thou, by no gifts induced, at last
Enter the bloody field, although thou chase 755
The Trojans hence, yet less shall be thy praise. 
Then thus Achilles, matchless in the race. 
Phoenix, my guide, wise, noble and revered! 
I covet no such glory! the renown
Ordain’d by Jove for me, is to resist 760
All importunity to quit my ships
While I have power to move, or breath to draw. 
Hear now, and mark me well.  Cease thou from