Book VI: Interviews Between Glaucus and Diomed, and Hector and Andromache

Now from that stubborn conflict of the GreeksAnd Trojans had the gods withdrawn. The fightOf men encountering men with brazen spearsStill raged from place to place upon the plainBetween the Xanthus and the Simoïs.

And first of all did Ajax Telamon,The bulwark of the Achaians, break the ranksOf Troy and raise the hopes of those who foughtBeside him; for he smote the bravest manOf all the Thracian warriors—Acamas,Son of Eussorus, strong and large of limb.His spear-head, through the plumèd helmet’s coneEntering the forehead of the Thracian, piercedThe bone, and darkness gathered o’er his eyes.The valiant Diomed slew Axylus,The son of Teuthras. To the war he cameFrom nobly-built Arisba; great his wealth,And greatly was he loved, for courteouslyHe welcomed to his house beside the wayAll comers. None of these could interposeBetween him and his death, for DiomedSlew him and his attendant charioteer,Calysius; both went down below the earth.

And then Euryalus struck Dresus down,And smote Opheltius, and went on to slayAesepus and his brother Pedasus;—A river-nymph, Abarbareia, boreBoth children to Bucolion the renowned.Bucolion was the eldest of the sonsOf great Laomedon. His mother rearedThe boy in secret. While he fed his sheep,He with the river-nymph was joined in loveAnd marriage, and she bore him twins; and these,Brave and of shapely limb, Mecisteus’ sonStruck down, and from their shoulders tore the mail.The warlike Polypoetes overthrewAstyalus; Ulysses smote to earthPidytes the Percosian with the spear,And Teucer Aretaon, nobly born.The glittering javelin of Antilochus,The son of Nestor, laid Ablerus low;And Agamemnon, king of men, struck downElatus, who on lofty PedasusDwelt, by the smoothly flowing Satnio’s stream.Brave Leitus slew Phylacus in flight,And by Eurypylus Melanthius fell.Then valiant Menelaus took aliveAdrastus, whose two coursers, as they scouredThe plain in terror, struck against a branchOf tamarisk, and, there entangled, snappedThe chariot pole, and, breaking from it, fledWhither were others fleeing. From the carAdrastus to the dust beside the wheelFell, on his face. There, lifting his huge spear,Atrides Menelaus o’er him stood.Adrastus clasped the warrior’s knees and said:—

“O son of Atreus, take me prisoner,And thou shalt have large ransom. In the houseOf my rich father ample treasures lie—Brass, gold, and tempered steel—and he shall sendGifts without end when he shall hear that IAm spared alive and in the Grecian fleet.”

He spake, and moved the conqueror, who nowWas minded to give charge that one amongHis comrades to the Grecian fleet should leadThe captive. Agamemnon came in haste,And, lifting up his voice, rebuked him thus:—

“O Menelaus, soft of heart, why thusArt thou concerned for men like these? In sooth,Great are the benefits thy household owesThe Trojans. Nay, let none of them escapeThe doom of swift destruction by our hands.The very babe within his mother’s womb,Even that must die, and all of Ilium bornPerish unburied, utterly cut off.”

He spake; the timely admonition changedThe purpose of his brother, who thrust backThe suppliant hero with his hand; and thenKing Agamemnon smote him through the loins,And prone on earth he fell. Upon the breastOf the slain man Atrides placed his heel,And from the body drew the ashen spear.

Then Nestor to the Argives called aloud:—“Friends, Grecian heroes, ministers of Mars!Let no man here through eagerness for spoilLinger behind the rest, that he may bearMuch plunder to the ships; but let us firstStrike down our enemies, and afterwardAt leisure strip the bodies of the dead.”

Thus speaking, he revived in every breastCourage and zeal. Then had the men of TroySought refuge from the Greeks within their walls,O’ercome by abject fear, if Helenus,The son of Priam, and of highest noteAmong the augurs, had not made his wayTo Hector and Aeneas, speaking thus:—

“O Hector and Aeneas, since on youIs laid the mighty labor to commandThe Trojans and the Lycians—for the firstAre ye in battle, and in council first—Here make your stand, and haste from side to side,Rallying your scattered ranks, lest they betakeThemselves to flight, and, rushing to their wives,Become the scorn and laughter of the foe.And then, so soon as ye shall have revivedThe courage of your men, we here will bideThe conflict with the Greeks, though closely pressed;For so we must. But, Hector, thou departTo Troy and seek the mother of us both,And bid her call the honored Trojan damesTo where the blue-eyed Pallas has her fane,In the high citadel, and with a keyOpen the hallowed doors, and let her bringWhat she shall deem the fairest of the robes,And amplest, in her palace, and the oneShe prizes most, and lay it on the kneesOf the bright-haired Minerva. Let her makeA vow to offer to the goddess thereTwelve yearling heifers that have never borneThe yoke, if she in mercy will regardThe city, and the wives and little onesOf its defenders; if she will protectOur sacred Ilium from the ruthless sonOf Tydeus, from whose valor armies flee,And whom I deem the bravest of the Greeks.For not so greatly have we held in dreadAchilles, the great leader, whom they callThe goddess-born; but terrible in wrathIs Diomed, nor hath his peer in might.”

He spake, and Hector of his brother’s wordsWas not unmindful. Instantly he leaped,Armed, from his chariot, shaking his sharp spears;And everywhere among the host he went,Exhorting them to combat manfully;And thus he kindled the fierce fight anew.They, turning from the flight, withstood the Greeks.The Greeks fell back and ceased to slay; they thoughtThat one of the immortals had come downFrom out the starry heaven to help the menOf Troy, so suddenly they turned and fought.Then Hector to the Trojans called aloud:—

“O valiant sons of Troy, and ye alliesSummoned from far! Be men, my friends; call backYour wonted valor, while I go to TroyTo ask the aged men, our counsellors,And all our wives, to come before the godsAnd pray and offer vows of sacrifice.”

So the plumed Hector spake, and then withdrew,While the black fell that edged his bossy shieldStruck on his neck and ankles as he went.

Now came into the midst between the hostsGlaucus, the offspring of Hippolochus,And met the son of Tydeus—both intentOn combat. But when now the twain were near,And ready to engage, brave DiomedSpake first, and thus addressed his enemy:—

“Who mayst thou be, of mortal men? Most braveArt thou, yet never in the glorious fightHave I beheld thee. Thou surpassest nowAll others in thy daring, since thou com’stWithin the reach of my long spear. The sonsOf most unhappy men are they who meetMy arm; but—if thou comest from above,A god—I war not with the gods of heaven;For even brave Lycurgus lived not long,The son of Dryas, who engaged in strifeWith the celestial gods. He once pursuedThe nurses of the frantic Bacchus throughThe hallowed ground of Nyssa. All at onceThey flung to earth their sacred implements,Lycurgus the man-slayer beating themWith an ox-driver’s goad. Then Bacchus fledAnd plunged into the sea, where Thetis hidThe trembler in her bosom, for he shookWith panic at the hero’s angry threats.Thenceforward were the blessed deitiesWroth with Lycurgus. Him did Saturn’s sonStrike blind, and after that he lived not long,For he was held in hate by all the gods.So will I never with the gods contend.But if thou be indeed of mortal race,And nourished by the fruits of earth, draw near;And quickly shalt thou pass the gates of death.”

Hippolochus’s son, the far-renowned,Made answer thus: “O large-souled Diomed,Why ask my lineage? Like the race of leavesIs that of humankind. Upon the groundThe winds strew one year’s leaves; the sprouting grovePuts forth another brood, that shoot and growIn the spring season. So it is with man:One generation grows while one decays.Yet since thou takest heed of things like these,And askest whence I sprang—although to mostMy birth is not unknown—there is a townLapped in the pasture-grounds where graze the steedsOf Argos, Ephyra by name, and thereDwelt Sisyphus Aeolides, most shrewdOf men; his son was Glaucus, and the sonOf Glaucus was the good Bellerophon,To whom the gods gave beauty and the graceOf winning manners. Proetus sought his deathAnd banished him, for Proetus was the chiefAmong the Argives; Jupiter had madeThat people subject to his rule. The wifeOf Proetus, nobly-born Anteia, soughtWith passionate desire his secret love,But failed to entice, with all her blandishments,The virtuous and discreet Bellerophon.Therefore went she to Proetus with a lie—

“ ‘Die, Proetus, thou, or put BellerophonTo death, for he has offered force to me.’

“The monarch hearkened, and was moved to wrath;And then he would not slay him, for his soulRevolted at the deed; he sent him thenceTo Lycia, with a fatal tablet, sealed,With things of deadly import writ therein,Meant for Anteia’s father, in whose handBellerophon must place it, and be madeTo perish. So at Lycia he arrivedUnder the favoring guidance of the gods;And when he came where Lycian Xanthus flows,The king of that broad realm received his guestWith hospitable welcome, feasting himNine days, and offering up in sacrificeNine oxen. But when rosy-fingered MornAppeared for the tenth time, he questioned himAnd bade him show the token he had broughtFrom Proetus. When the monarch had beheldThe fatal tablet from his son-in-law,The first command he gave him was, to slayHeaven-born Chimaera, the invincible.No human form was hers: a lion sheIn front, a dragon in the hinder parts,And in the midst a goat, and terriblyHer nostrils breathed a fierce, consuming flame;Yet, trusting in the portents of the gods,He slew her. Then it was his second taskTo combat with the illustrious Solymi—The hardest battle he had ever fought—So he declared—with men; and then he slew—His third exploit—the man-like Amazons.Then he returned to Lycia; on his wayThe monarch laid a treacherous snare. He choseFrom his wide Lycian realm the bravest menTo lie in ambush for him. Never oneOf these came home again—BellerophonThe matchless slew them all. And when the kingSaw that he was the offspring of a god,He kept him near him, giving him to wifeHis daughter, and dividing with him allHis kingly honors, while the Lycians setTheir richest fields apart—a goodly spot,Ploughlands and vineyards—for the prince to till.And she who now became his wife brought forthThree children to the sage Bellerophon—Isandrus and Hippolochus; and, last,Laodameia, who in secret boreTo all-providing Jupiter a son—Godlike Sarpedon, eminent in arms.But when Bellerophon upon himselfHad drawn the anger of the gods, he roamedThe Alcian fields alone, a prey to thoughtsThat wasted him, and shunning every hauntOf humankind. The god whose lust of strifeIs never sated, Mars, cut off his sonIsandrus, warring with the illustrious raceOf Solymi; and Dian, she who guidesHer car with golden reins, in anger slewHis daughter. I am of Hippolochus;From him I claim my birth. He sent me forthTo Troy with many counsels and commands,Ever to bear myself like a brave man,And labor to excel, and never bringDishonor on the stock from which I sprang—The bravest stock by far in EphyraAnd the wide realm of Lycia. ’Tis my boastTo be of such a race and such a blood.”

He spake. The warlike Diomed was glad,And, planting in the foodful earth his spear,Addressed the people’s shepherd blandly thus:—

“Most surely thou art my ancestral guest;For noble Oeneus once within his hallsReceived the blameless chief Bellerophon,And kept him twenty days, and they bestowedGifts on each other, such as host and guestExchange; a purple baldric Oeneus gaveOf dazzling color, and BellerophonA double golden goblet; this I leftWithin my palace when I came to Troy.Of Tydeus I remember nothing, sinceHe left me, yet a little child, and wentTo Thebes, where perished such a host of Greeks.Henceforward I will be thy host and friendIn Argos; thou shalt be the same to meIn Lycia when I visit Lycia’s towns;And let us in the tumult of the frayAvoid each other’s spears, for there will beOf Trojans and of their renowned alliesEnough for me to slay whene’er a godShall bring them in my way. In turn for theeAre many Greeks to smite whomever thouCanst overcome. Let us exchange our arms,That even these may see that thou and IRegard each other as ancestral guests.”

Thus having said, and leaping from their cars,They clasped each other’s hands and pledged their faith.Then did the son of Saturn take awayThe judging mind of Glaucus, when he gaveHis arms of gold away for arms of brassWorn by Tydides Diomed—the worthOf fivescore oxen for the worth of nine.

And now had Hector reached the Scaean gatesAnd beechen tree. Around him flocked the wivesAnd daughters of the Trojans eagerly;Tidings of sons and brothers they required,And friends and husbands. He admonished allDuly to importune the gods in prayer,For woe, he said, was near to many a one.

And then he came to Priam’s noble hall—A palace built with graceful porticos,And fifty chambers near each other, walledWith polished stone, the rooms of Priam’s sonsAnd of their wives; and opposite to theseTwelve chambers for his daughters, also nearEach other; and, with polished marble walls,The sleeping-rooms of Priam’s sons-in-lawAnd their unblemished consorts. There he metHis gentle mother on her way to seekHer fairest child, Laodice. She tookHis hand and held it fast, while thus she spake:—

“Why art thou come, my child, and why hast leftThe raging fight? Full hard these hateful GreeksPress us, in fighting round the city-walls.Thy heart, I know, hath moved thee to repairTo our high citadel, and lift thy handsIn prayer to Jupiter. But stay thou hereTill I bring pleasant wine, that thou mayst pourA part to Jove and to the other gods,And drink and be refreshed; for wine restoresStrength to the weary, and I know that thouArt weary, fighting for thy countrymen.”

Great Hector of the crested helm replied:—“My honored mother, bring not pleasant wine,Lest that unman me, and my wonted mightAnd valor leave me. I should fear to pourDark wine to Jupiter with hands unwashed.Nor is it fitting that a man like me,Defiled with blood and battle-dust, should makeVows to the cloud-compeller, Saturn’s son.But thou, with incense, seek the temple rearedTo Pallas the despoiler—calling firstOur honored dames together. Take with theeWhat thou shalt deem the fairest of the robes,And amplest, in thy palace, and the oneThou prizest most, and lay it on the kneesOf the bright-haired Minerva. Make a vowTo offer to the goddess in her faneTwelve yearling heifers that have never borneThe yoke, if she in mercy will regardThe city, and the wives and little onesOf its defenders; if she will protectOur sacred Ilium from the ruthless sonOf Tydeus, from whose valor armies flee.So to the shrine of Pallas, warrior-queen,Do thou repair, while I depart to seekParis, if he will listen to my voice.Would that the earth might open where he stands,And swallow him! Olympian JupiterReared him to be the bane of all who dwellIn Troy, to large-souled Priam and his sons.Could I behold him sinking to the shades,My heart would lose its sense of bitter woe.”

He spake. His mother, turning homeward, gaveCharge to her handmaids, who through all the townPassed, summoning the matrons, while the queenDescended to her chamber, where the airWas sweet with perfumes, and in which were laidHer rich embroidered robes, the handiworkOf Sidon’s damsels, whom her son had brought—The godlike Alexander—from the coastOf Sidon, when across the mighty deepHe sailed and brought the high born Helen thence.One robe, most beautiful of all, she chose,To bring to Pallas, ampler than the rest,And many-hued; it glistened like a star,And lay beneath them all. Then hastilyShe left the chamber with the matron train.

They reached Minerva’s temple, and its gatesWere opened by Theano, rosy-cheeked,The knight Antenor’s wife and Cisseus’ child,Made priestess to the goddess by the sonsOf Troy. Then all the matrons lifted upTheir voices and stretched forth their suppliant handsTo Pallas, while the fair Theano tookThe robe and spread its folds upon the lapOf fair-haired Pallas, and with solemn vowsPrayed to the daughter of imperial Jove:—

“O venerated Pallas, Guardian-PowerOf Troy, great goddess! Shatter thou the lanceOf Diomed, and let him fall in deathBefore the Scaean gates, that we forthwithMay offer to thee in thy temple hereTwelve yearling heifers that have never wornThe yoke, if thou wilt pity us and spareThe wives of Trojans and their little ones.”

So spake she, supplicating; but her prayerMinerva answered not; and while they madeVows to the daughter of Almighty Jove,Hector was hastening to the sumptuous homeOf Alexander, which that prince had builtWith aid of the most cunning architectsIn Troy the fruitful, by whose hands were madeThe bed-chamber and hall and ante-room.There entered Hector, dear to Jove; he boreIn hand a spear eleven cubits long:The brazen spear-head glittered brightly, boundWith a gold circle. In his room he thereFound Paris, busied with his shining arms—Corselet and shield; he tried his curved bow;While Argive Helen with the attendant maidsWas sitting, and appointed each a task.Hector beheld, and chid him sharply thus:—

“Strange man! A fitting time indeed is this,To indulge thy sullen humor, while in fightAround our lofty walls the men of TroyAre perishing, and for thy sake the warIs fiercely blazing all around our town.Thou wouldst thyself reprove him, shouldst thou seeAnother warrior as remiss as thouIn time of battle. Rouse thee, then, and act,Lest we behold our city all in flames.”

Then answered Paris of the godlike form:—“Hector! Although thou justly chidest me,And not beyond my due, yet let me speak.Attend and hearken. Not in sullenness,Nor angry with the Trojans, sat I hereWithin my chamber, but that I might giveA loose to sorrow. Even now my wifeWith gentle speeches has besought of meThat I return to battle; and to meThat seems the best, for oft doth victoryChange sides in war. Remain thou yet awhile,Till I put on my armor; or go thou,And I shall follow and rejoin thee soon.”

He ended. Hector of the beamy helmHeard him, and answered not; but Helen spake,And thus with soothing words addressed the chief:—

“Brother-in-law—for such thou art, though IAm lost to shame, and cause of many ills—Would that some violent blast when I was bornHad whirled me to the mountain wilds, or wavesOf the hoarse sea, that they might swallow me,Ere deeds like these were done! But since the godsHave thus decreed, why was I not the wifeOf one who bears a braver heart and feelsKeenly the anger and reproach of men?For Paris hath not, and will never have,A resolute mind, and must abide the effectOf his own folly. Enter thou meanwhile,My brother; seat thee here, for heavilyMust press on thee the labors thou dost bearFor one so vile as I, and for the sakeOf guilty Paris. An unhappy lot,By Jupiter’s appointment, waits us both—A theme of song for men in time to come.”

Great Hector of the beamy helm replied:—“Nay, Helen, ask me not to sit; thy speechIs courteous, but persuades me not. My mindIs troubled for the Trojans, to whose aidI hasten, for they miss me even now.But thou exhort this man, and bid him hasteTo overtake me ere I leave the town.I go to my own mansion first, to meetMy household—my dear wife and little child;Nor know I whether I may come once moreTo them, or whether the great gods ordainThat I must perish by the hands of Greeks.”

So spake the plumèd Hector, and withdrew,And reached his pleasant palace, but found notWhite-armed Andromache within, for sheWas in the tower, beside her little sonAnd well-robed nurse, and sorrowed, shedding tears.And Hector, seeing that his blameless wifeWas not within, came forth again, and stoodUpon the threshold questioning the maids.

“I pray you, damsels, tell me whither wentWhite-armed Andromache? Has she gone forthTo seek my sisters, or those stately dames,My brothers’ wives? Or haply has she soughtThe temple of Minerva, where are metThe other bright-haired matrons of the townTo supplicate the dreaded deity?”

Then said the diligent housewife in reply:—“Since thou wilt have the truth—thy wife is goneNot to thy sisters, nor those stately dames,Thy brothers’ wives; nor went she forth to joinThe other bright-haired matrons of the town,Where in Minerva’s temple they are metTo supplicate the dreaded deityBut to the lofty tower of Troy she wentWhen it was told her that the Trojan troopsLost heart, and that the valor of the GreeksPrevailed. She now is hurrying toward the walls,Like one distracted, with her son and nurse.”

So spake the matron. Hector left in hasteThe mansion, and retraced his way betweenThe rows of stately dwellings, traversingThe mighty city. When at length he reachedThe Scaean gates, that issue on the field,His spouse, the nobly-dowered Andromache,Came forth to meet him—daughter of the princeEëtion, who, among the woody slopesOf Placos, in the Hypoplacian townOf Thebé, ruled Cilicia and her sons,And gave his child to Hector great in arms.She came attended by a maid, who boreA tender child—a babe too young to speak—Upon her bosom—Hector’s only son,Beautiful as a star, whom Hector calledScamandrius, but all else Astyanax—The city’s lord—since Hector stood the soleDefence of Troy. The father on his childLooked with a silent smile. AndromachePressed to his side meanwhile, and, all in tears,Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said:—

“Too brave! Thy valor yet will cause thy death.Thou hast no pity on thy tender child,Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must beThy widow. All the Greeks will rush on theeTo take thy life. A happier lot were mine,If I must lose thee, to go down to earth,For I shall have no hope when thou art gone—Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none,And no dear mother. Great Achilles slewMy father when he sacked the populous townOf the Cilicians—Thebé with high gates.’Twas there he smote Eëtion, yet forboreTo make his arms a spoil; he dared not that,But burned the dead with his bright armor on,And raised a mound above him. Mountain-nymphs,Daughters of aegis-bearing Jupiter,Came to the spot and planted it with elms.Seven brothers had I in my father’s house,And all went down to Hades in one day.Achilles the swift-footed slew them allAmong their slow-paced bullocks and white sheep.My mother, princess on the woody slopesOf Placos, with his spoils he bore away,And only for large ransom gave her back.But her Diana, archer-queen, struck downWithin her father’s palace. Hector, thouArt father and dear mother now to me,And brother and my youthful spouse besides.In pity keep within the fortress here,Nor make thy child an orphan nor thy wifeA widow. Post thine army near the placeOf the wild fig-tree, where the city-wallsAre low and may be scaled. Thrice in the warThe boldest of the foe have tried the spot—The Ajaces and the famed Idomeneus,The two chiefs born to Atreus, and the braveTydides, whether counselled by some seerOr prompted to the attempt by their own minds.”

Then answered Hector, great in war: “All thisI bear in mind, dear wife; but I should standAshamed before the men and long-robed damesOf Troy, were I to keep aloof and shunThe conflict, coward-like. Not thus my heartPrompts me, for greatly have I learned to dareAnd strike among the foremost sons of Troy,Upholding my great father’s fame and mine;Yet well in my undoubting mind I knowThe day shall come in which our sacred Troy,And Priam, and the people over whomSpear-bearing Priam rules, shall perish all.But not the sorrows of the Trojan race,Nor those of Hecuba herself, nor thoseOf royal Priam, nor the woes that waitMy brothers many and brave—who all at last,Slain by the pitiless foe, shall lie in dust—Grieve me so much as thine, when some mailed GreekShall lead thee weeping hence, and take from theeThy day of freedom. Thou in Argos thenShalt, at another’s bidding, ply the loom,And from the fountain of Messeis drawWater, or from the Hypereian spring,Constrained unwilling by thy cruel lot.And then shall someone say who sees thee weep,‘This was the wife of Hector, most renownedOf the horse-taming Trojans, when they foughtAround their city.’ So shall someone say,And thou shalt grieve the more, lamenting himWho haply might have kept afar the dayOf thy captivity. O, let the earthBe heaped above my head in death beforeI hear thy cries as thou art borne away!”

So speaking, mighty Hector stretched his armsTo take the boy; the boy shrank crying backTo his fair nurse’s bosom, scared to seeHis father helmeted in glittering brass,And eying with affright the horse-hair plumeThat grimly nodded from the lofty crest.At this both parents in their fondness laughed;And hastily the mighty Hector tookThe helmet from his brow and laid it downGleaming upon the ground, and, having kissedHis darling son and tossed him up in play,Prayed thus to Jove and all the gods of heaven:

“O Jupiter and all ye deities,Vouchsafe that this my son may yet becomeAmong the Trojans eminent like me,And nobly rule in Ilium. May they say,‘This man is greater than his father was!’When they behold him from the battle-fieldBring back the bloody spoil of the slain foe—That so his mother may be glad at heart.”

So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouseHe gave the boy; she on her fragrant breastReceived him, weeping as she smiled. The chiefBeheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothedHer forehead gently with his hand and said:—

“Sorrow not thus, beloved one, for me.No living man can send me to the shadesBefore my time; no man of woman born,Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.But go thou home, and tend thy labors there—The web, the distaff—and command thy maidsTo speed the work: The cares of war pertainTo all men born in Troy, and most to me.”

Thus speaking, mighty Hector took againHis helmet, shadowed with the horse-hair plume,While homeward his beloved consort went,Oft looking back, and shedding many tears.Soon was she in the spacious palace-hallsOf the min-queller Hector. There she foundA troop of maidens—with them all she sharedHer grief; and all in his own house bewailedThe living Hector, whom they thought no moreTo see returning from the battle-field,Safe from the rage and weapons of the Greeks,

Nor waited Paris in his lofty halls,But when he had put on his glorious arms,Glittering with brass, he traversed with quick stepsThe city; and as when some courser, fedWith barley in the stall, and wont to batheIn some smooth-flowing river, having snappedHis halter, gayly scampers o’er the plain,And in the pride of beauty bears aloftHis head, and gives his tossing mane to streamUpon his shoulders, while his flying feetBear him to where the mares are wont to graze—So came the son of Priam—Paris—downFrom lofty Pergamus in glittering arms,And, glorious as the sun, held on his wayExulting and with rapid feet. He foundHis noble brother Hector as he turnedTo leave the place in which his wife and heHad talked together. Alexander then—Of godlike form—addressed his brother thus:—

“My elder brother! I have kept thee hereWaiting, I fear, for me, though much in haste,And came less quickly than thou didst desire.”

And Hector of the plumèd helm replied:—“Strange being, no man justly can dispraiseThy martial deeds, for thou art truly brave.But oft art thou remiss and wilt not joinThe combat. I am sad at heart to hearThe Trojans—they who suffer for thy sakeA thousand hardships—speak so ill of thee.Yet let us go: we will confer of thisAnother time, if Jove should e’er vouchsafeThat to the immortal gods of heaven we pourIn our own halls the cup of libertyWhen we have chased the well-armed Greeks from Troy.”