Whelmed

"O son of Tydeus, bravest of the race, / why could not I have perished, too, that day / beneath thine arm, and breathed this soul away / far on the plains of Troy, where Hector brave / lay, pierced by fierce AEacide, where lay / giant Sarpedon, and swift Simois' wave / rolls heroes, helms and shields, whelmed in one watery grave?"

One, that bore / the brave Orontes and his Lycian crew, / full in AEneas' sight a toppling wave o'erthrew. / Dashed from the tiller, down the pilot rolled. / Thrice round the billow whirled her, as she lay, / then whelmed below.

Whom then did I upbraid not, wild with woe, / of gods or men? What sadder sight elsewhere / had Troy, now whelmed in utter wreck, to show?

What a gracious speech, what a daring pledge to a world whelmed in tyranny and wrong!