Albeit care that consumes, with dule assiduous grieving,Me from the Learnèd Maids (Hortalus!) ever seclude,Nor can avail sweet births of the Muses thou to deliverThought o' my mind; (so much floats it on flooding of ills:For that the Lethe-wave upsurging of late from abysses,Lavèd my brother's foot, paling with pallor of death,He whom the Trojan soil, Rhoetean shore underlying, Buries for ever and aye, forcibly snatched from our sight.I can address; no more shall I hear thee tell of thy doings,