Things possible, and possible to me. 
Then Thetis, weeping plenteously, replied. 530
Oh Vulcan!  Is there on Olympius’ heights
A Goddess with such load of sorrow press’d
As, in peculiar, Jove assigns to me? 
Me only, of all ocean-nymphs, he made
Spouse to a man, Peleus AEacides, 535
Whose bed, although reluctant and perforce,
I yet endured to share.  He now, the prey
Of cheerless age, decrepid lies, and Jove
Still other woes heaps on my wretched head. 
He gave me to bring forth, gave me to rear 540
A son illustrious, valiant, and the chief
Of heroes; he, like a luxuriant plant
Upran[9] to manhood, while his lusty growth
I nourish’d as the husbandman his vine
Set in a fruitful field, and being grown 545
I sent him early in his gallant fleet
Embark’d, to combat with the sons of Troy;
But him from fight return’d I shall receive,
Beneath the roof of Peleus, never more,
And while he lives and on the sun his eyes 550
Opens, affliction is his certain doom,
Nor aid resides or remedy in me. 
The virgin, his own portion of the spoils,
Allotted to him by the Grecians—­her
Atrides, King of men, resumed, and grief 555
Devour’d Achilles’ spirit for her sake. 
Meantime, the Trojans shutting close within
Their camp the Grecians, have forbidden them
All egress, and the senators of Greece
Have sought with splendid gifts to soothe my son. 560
He, indisposed to rescue them himself
From ruin, sent, instead, Patroclus forth,
Clad in his own resplendent armor, Chief
Of the whole host of Myrmidons.  Before
The Scaean gate from morn to eve they fought, 565
And on that self-same day had Ilium fallen,
But that Apollo, to advance the fame
Of Hector, slew Menoetius’ noble son
Full-flush’d with victory.  Therefore at thy knees
Suppliant I fall, imploring from thine art 570
A shield and helmet, greaves of shapely form
With clasps secured, and corselet for my son. 
For those, once his, his faithful friend hath lost,
Slain by the Trojans, and Achilles lies,
Himself, extended mournful on the ground. 575
Her answer’d then the artist of the skies. 
Courage!  Perplex not with these cares thy soul. 
I would that when his fatal hour shall come,
I could as sure secrete him from the stroke
Of destiny, as he shall soon have arms 580
Illustrious, such as each particular man
Of thousands, seeing them, shall wish his own. 
He said, and to his bellows quick repair’d,
Which turning to the fire he bade them heave. 
Full twenty bellows working all at once 595
Breathed on the furnace, blowing easy and free
The managed winds, now forcible, as best