I, for one, know of no sweeter sight for a man's eyes than his own country.
I too shall lie in the dust when I am dead, but now let me win noble renown.
Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.
Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.
The wine urges me on, the bewitching wine, which sets even a wise man to singing and to laughing gently and rouses him up to dance and brings forth words which were better unspoken.
No man or woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny.