He, who saw His parent, raising up his drooping head With parted lips and silent features asks A father's latest kiss, a father's hand To close his dying eyes.

But soon his sire, Recovering from his swoon, when ruthless grief Possessed his spirit, "This short space," he cried, "I lose not, which the cruel gods have given, But die before thee.

Grant thy sorrowing sire Forgiveness that he fled thy last embrace.
Not yet has passed thy life blood from the wound Nor yet is death upon thee -- still thou may'st (31) Outlive thy parent." Thus he spake, and seized The reeking sword and drave it to the hilt, Then plunged into the deep, with headlong bound, To anticipate his son: for this he feared A single form of death should not suffice.
Now gave the fates their judgment, and in doubt No longer was the war: the Grecian fleet In most part sunk; -- some ships by Romans oared Conveyed the victors home: in headlong flight Some sought the yards for shelter.

On the strand What tears of parents for their offspring slain, How wept the mothers! 'Mid the pile confused Ofttimes the wife sought madly for her spouse And chose for her last kiss some Roman slain; While wretched fathers by the blazing pyres Fought for the dead.

But Brutus thus at sea First gained a triumph for great Caesar's arms.