There, and then back! . . . And on this belt shall bleedOdysseus' head—or why not Diomede?—To prove my truth. Ere dawn can touch the landI shall be here, and blood upon my hand.[ExitDolon.
Chorus.
Thymbraean, Delian, Birth divine,That walkest Lycia's inmost shrine,Come, strong to guard, to guide, to follow,Come, bow in hand and girt with night,To help thy Dardans as of old,When stone by stone thy music rolled—O conquering Strength, O Sire Apollo!—Young Ilion into towers of light.Grant that he reach the shipyard, creepKeen-eyed through all that host asleep,Then back to home and hearth, yet living,Where now his father prays alone:Yea, grant that, when the Greeks are slain,Our wolf shall mount with scourge and reinThose coursers of the sea-god's giving,Whom Peleus drove in days foregone.
Alone in those Greek ships to stakeHis life, for home and country's sake:'Tis wondrous! Few be hearts so trueWhen seas across the bulwark break,And sunlight sickens o'er the crew.Ah, Phrygia still hath hearts of rock!The Phrygian spear flies fast and far!Where shall ye find the fool to mockOur works in war?Whom will he stab a-sleeping, whom,The quick grey wolf, the crawling doom?Grant that he slay the Spartan! Nay,Or Agamemnon's head and plumeTo Helen bear at dawn of day!A lightsome dawn to hear her wailHer brother sworn, her King who cameTo Ilion with his thousand sail,And swords, and flame!
[As the song endsDolonreappears, in the disguise of a wolf. The Guards gather round him, bidding him godspeed as he crawls off in the dark towards the Greek camp. Meantime from the direction of Mount Ida has entered aShepherdwho goes toHector'sdoor and calls. The Guards seeing him return to their places.
Shepherd.
Ho, Master![EnterHectorfrom tent.I would it ofttimes were my luck to shareAs goodly news with thee as now I bear.
Hector.
What dulness hangs about these shepherds! Block,Com'st thou to us with tidings of thy flockHere in the field in arms? Who wants thee here?Thou know'st my house; thou know'st my father's.ThereTell all about thy lucky lambs.—Now go.
Shepherd.
Dull wits, we shepherds! Aye, 'twas alway so.Yet still, there is some good news to be told.
Hector.
A truce there to thy gossip of the fold!Our dealings are of war, of sword and spear.[He turns to go.
Shepherd.
Aye; so were mine. That is what brought me here.[Hector'smanner changes.A chief comes yonder, leading a great bandOf spears, with help to thee and all the land.
Hector.
From whence? How do his name and lineage run?
Shepherd.
He comes from Thrace, the River Strymon's son.
Hector.
Rhesus! Not Rhesus, here on Trojan soil?
Shepherd.
Thou hast guessed. That eases me of half my toil.
Hector.
What makes he there towards Ida? All astrayThus from the plain and the broad waggon-way!
Shepherd.
I know not rightly, though one well may guess.'Tis hard to land at night, with such a pressOf spears, on a strange coast, where rumours tellOf foes through all the plain-land. We that dwellOn Ida, in the rock, Troy's ancient rootAnd hearth-stone, were well frighted, through the muteAnd wolfish thickets thus to hear him break.A great and rushing noise those Thracians make,Marching. We, all astonied, ran to driveOur sheep to the upmost heights. 'Twas some Argive,We thought, who came to sweep the mountain clearAnd waste thy folds; till suddenly our earCaught at their speech, and knew 'twas nothing Greek.Then all our terror fled. I ran to seekSome scout or pioneer who led the vanAnd called in Thracian: "Ho, what child of manDoth lead you? From what nation do ye bringThis host with aid to Ilion and her king?"He told me what I sought, and there I stoodWatching; and saw one gleaming like a God,Tall in the darkness on a Thracian car.A plate of red gold mated, like a bar,His coursers' necks, white, white as fallen snow.A carven targe, with golden shapes aglow,Hung o'er his back. Before each courser's headA Gorgon, to the frontlet riveted,With bells set round—like stories that they tellOf Pallas' shield—made music terrible.The numbers of that host no pen could writeNor reckon; 'tis a multitudinous sight,Long lines of horsemen, lines of targeteers,Archers abundant; and behind them veersA wavering horde, light-armed, in Thracian weed.A friend is come to Ilion in her need'Gainst whom no Argive, let him fly or stand,Shall aught avail nor 'scape his conquering hand.
Leader.
Lo, when the Gods breathe gently o'er a town,All runs to good, as water-streams run down.
Hector(bitterly).
Aye, when my spear hath fortune, when God sendsHis favour, I shall find abundant friends.I need them not; who never came of yoreTo help us, when we rolled to death beforeThe war-swell, and the wind had ripped our sail.Then Rhesus taught us Trojans what availHis words are.—He comes early to the feast;Where was he when the hunters met the beast?Where, when we sank beneath the Argive spear?
Leader.
Well may'st thou mock and blame thy friend. Yet hereHe comes with help for Troy. Accept him thou.
Hector.
We are enough, who have held the wall till now.
Leader.
Master, dost think already that our foeIs ta'en?
Hector.
I do. To-morrow's light will show.
Leader.
Have care. Fate often flings a backward cast.
Hector.
I hate the help that comes when need is past . . .Howbeit, once come, I bid him welcome hereAs guest—not war-friend; guest to share our cheer.The thanks are lost, he might have won from us.
Leader.
My general, to reject an ally thusMust needs make hatred.
Shepherd.
The mere sight of thoseI saw would sure cast fear upon our foes.
Hector(yielding reluctantly, with a laugh).
Ah, well; thy words are prudent; and (ToShepherd) thine eyesSee glorious things. With all these panopliesOf gold that filled our Shepherd's heart with joy,Bid Rhesus welcome, as war-friend to Troy.
[ExitShepherd; Hectorreturns to his tent, amid the joy of the soldiers.
Chorus.
Now Adrasteia be near and guardOur lips from sin, lest the end be hard!But he cometh, he cometh, the Child of the River!The pride of my heart it shall roll unbarred.We craved thy coming; yea, need was strongIn the Hall of thy lovers, O child of Song;Thy mother the Muse and her fair-bridged RiverThey held thee from us so long, so long!By Strymon's torrent alone she sang,And Strymon shivered and coiled and sprang;And her arms went wide to the wild sweet water,And the love of the River around her rang.We hail thee, Fruit of the River's seed,Young Zeus of the Dawn, on thy starry steed!O ancient City, O Ida's daughter,Is God the Deliverer found indeed?And men shall tell of thee, Ilion mine,Once more a-harping at day's decline,'Mid laughing of lovers and lays and dancesAnd challenge on challenge of circling wine?When the Greek is smitten that day shall be,And fled to Argolis over the sea:O mighty of hand, O leader of lances,Smite him, and heaven be good to thee!Thou Rider golden and swift and sheer,Achilles falters: appear! appear!The car like flame where the red shield leapeth,The fell white steeds and the burning spear!No Greek shall boast he hath seen thy faceAnd danced again in the dancing place;And the land shall laugh for the sheaves she reapeth,Of spoilers dead by a sword from Thrace.
EnterRhesusin dazzling white armour, followed by hisCharioteerand Attendants. TheCharioteercarries his golden shield. TheChorusbreak into a shout of "All Hail!"
Leader.
All hail, great King! A whelp indeedIs born in Thracia's lion fold,Whose leap shall make strong cities bleed.Behold his body girt with gold,And hark the pride of bells alongThe frontlet of that targe's hold.
Chorus.
A God, O Troy, a God and more!'Tis Ares' self, this issue strongOf Strymon and the Muse of song,Whose breath is fragrant on thy shore!
Re-enterHector.
Rhesus.
Lord Hector, Prince of Ilion, noble sonOf noble sires, all hail! Long years have runSince last we greeted, and 'tis joy this dayTo see thy fortunes firm and thine arrayCamped at the foe's gate. Here am I to tameThat foe for thee, and wrap his ships in flame.
Hector.
Thou child of Music and the Thracian flood,Strymonian Rhesus, truth is alway goodIn Hector's eyes. I wear no double heart.Long, long ago thou shouldst have borne thy partIn Ilion's labours, not have left us here,For all thy help, to sink beneath the spear.Why didst thou—not for lack of need made plain!—Not come, not send, not think of us again?What grave ambassadors prayed not beforeThy throne, what herald knelt not at thy door?What pride of gifts did Troy not send to thee?And thou, a lord of Barbary even as we,Thou, brother of our blood, like one at supWho quaffs his fill and flings away the cup,Hast flung to the Greeks my city! Yet, long since,'Twas I that found thee but a little princeAnd made thee mighty, I and this right hand;When round Pangaion and the Paiôn's land,Front against front, I burst upon the broodOf Thrace and broke their targes, and subduedTheir power to thine. The grace whereof, not small,Thou hast spurned, and when thy kinsmen, drowning, call,Comest too late. Thou! Others there have beenThese long years, not by nature of our kin . . .Some under yon rough barrows thou canst seeLie buried; they were true to Troy and me;And others, yet here in the shielded lineOr mid the chariots, parching in the shineOf noonday, starving in the winds that biteThrough Ilion's winter, still endure and fightOn at my side. 'Twas not their way, to lieOn a soft couch and, while the cups go by,Pledge my good health, like thee, in Thracian wine.I speak as a free man. With thee and thineHector is wroth, and tells thee to thy face.
Rhesus.
Thy way is mine, friend. Straight I run my raceIn word and deed, and bear no double tongue.I tell thee, more than thine my heart was wrung,Yea, angered past all durance, thus to stayBack from thy battles. 'Twas a folk that layHard on my borders, Scythians of the north;Just when my host for Troy had started forth,They fell upon our homes. I had reached the coastOf the Friendless Sea and purposed to have crossedMy Thracians there. We turned; and all that plainIs trampled in a mire of Scythian slainPloughed by our spears, and blood of Thrace withalNot stinted. This it was that drowned thy callFor help and held me back from Ilion's need.I broke their power; the princes of their breedI took to hostage, made their elders swearTo bring my house due tribute, year by year,Then, never lagging, crossed the Pontus mouth,Marched by long stages through Bithynia southAnd here am come . . . not drunken with the feast,As thou wouldst have me be, not lulled to restIn golden chambers. In this harness hardI have borne my nights of winter storm that starredThe Euxine into ice and scared the strongPaionians.Long I have been, but not too longTo save thee yet. Friend, this is the tenth yearThou labourest on unceasing, with no clearVantage; day creeps by day, and Ares throwsThe same red dice for thee and for thy foes.Now, hear my vow. Before one day's eclipseI swear to break their wall, to burn their shipsAnd slay their princes. On the second dayI leave this soil and take my homeward way,Thy pains relieved. No Trojan of the landNeed move, nor turn the buckler in his hand.Alone my late-comers will turn the tideAnd smite your Greeks, for all their bitter pride.
Chorus.
[The Trojan soldiers, who have been listening with delight, here break out in irrepressible applause.
All hail!Sweet words and faithful heart!Only may Zeus avertFrom those proud lips the Wrath that none may bear!Never a galleon bore,Now, nor in days of yore,Prince like to thee, so valiant and so fair.How shall Achilles, howShall Ajax bear him now,Or face thy lance? May I but stand that dayWatching to see him reelBroken beneath thy steel,And once in blood his many murders pay!
Rhesus.
Yea, more atonement thou shalt take from meFor this slow help.—May Adrasteia seeMy heart and pardon!—When we two have setTroy free from these who compass her with hate,Soon as the Gods have had their first-fruits, IWith thee will sail—so help me Zeus on high!—And sack all Hellas with the sword, till theseDoers of deeds shall know what suffering is.
Hector.
By heaven, could I once see this peril rolledPast us, and live in Ilion as of old,Untrembling, I would thank my gods! To seekArgos and sack the cities of the Greek—'Twere not such light work as thou fanciest.
Rhesus.
These Greeks that face thee, are they not their best?
Hector.
We seek not better. These do all we need.
Rhesus.
When these are beaten, then, we have done the deed.
Hector.
Lose not thy path watching a distant view.
Rhesus.
Thou seem'st content to suffer, not to do?
Hector.
I have a kingdom large by mine own right. . . .What station will best please thee in this fightTo ground the targe and stablish thine array?Right, left, or midmost in the allies? Say.
Rhesus.
'Twould please me best to fight these Greeks alone.Yet, if 'twould irk thine honour not to have thrownOne firebrand on the ships with me,why, thenSet us to face Achilles and his men.
Hector.
Achilles? Nay, his spear ye cannot meet.
Rhesus.
How so? Fame said he sailed here with the fleet.
Hector.
He sailed, and he is here. But some despite'Gainst the great King now keeps him from the fight.
Rhesus.
Who next to him hath honour in their host?
Hector.
Next, to my seeming, Ajax hath the most,Or Diomede.—But Odysseus is a toughAnd subtle fox, and brave; aye, brave enough.No man of them hath harmed us more than he.He climbed here to Athena's sanctuaryOne night, and stole her image clean awayTo the Argive ships. Yes, and another day,Guised as a wandering priest, in rags, he cameAnd walked straight through the Gates, made loud acclaimOf curses on the Greek, spied out aloneAll that he sought in Ilion, and was gone—Gone, and the watch and helpers of the GateDead! And in every ambush they have setBy the old Altar, close to Troy, we knowHe sits—a murderous reptile of a foe!
Rhesus.
No brave man seeks so dastardly to harmHis battle-foes; he meets them arm to arm.This Greek of thine, this sitter like a thiefIn ambush, I will make of him my chiefCare. I will take him living, drive a straightStake through him, and so star him at the GateTo feed your wide-winged vultures. 'Tis the deathMost meet for a lewd thief, who pillagethGod's sanctuary, or so we hold in Thrace.
Hector(making no answer).
Seek first some sleep. There still remains a spaceOf darkness.—I will show the spot that bestMay suit you, somewhat sundered from the rest.Should need arise, the password of the nightIs Phoebus: see your Thracians have it right.[Turning to the Guards before he goes.Advance beyond your stations, men, at someDistance, and stay on watch till Dolon comeWith word of the Argives' counsel. If his vowProsper, he should be nearing us by now.
[ExeuntHectorandRhesusand Attendants. The Guards, who have been below, come forward sleepily from the camp fire, and sit watching byHector'stent.
Chorus.
Say, whose is the watch? Who exchangesWith us? The first planets to riseAre setting; the Pleiades sevenMove low on the margin of heaven,And the Eagle is risen and rangesThe mid-vault of the skies.
Another.
No sleeping yet! Up from your couchesAnd watch on, the sluggards ye are!The moon-maiden's lamp is yet burning.
Third Guard.
Oh, the morning is near us, the morning!Even now his fore-runner approaches,Yon dim-shining star.
Divers Guards(talking).
Who drew the first night-watch?
Another.
'Twas oneKoroibos, called the Mygdon's Son.
The Guard.
And after?
The Other.
The Mount Taurus menHad second watch: from them againThe Mysians took it. We came then.
A Guard.
'Tis surely time. Who will go tellThe fifth watch? 'Tis the Lycians' spellBy now; 'twas thus the portions fell.
Another.
Nay, hearken! Again she is cryingWhere death-laden Simoïs falls,Of the face of dead Itys that stunned her,Of grief grown to music and wonder:Most changeful and old and undyingThe nightingale calls.
Another.
And on Ida the shepherds are wakingTheir flocks for the upland. I hearThe skirl of a pipe very distant.
Another.
And sleep, it falls slow and insistent.'Tis perilous sweet when the breakingOf dawn is so near.
Divers Guards(talking).
Why have we still no word nor signOf that scout in the Argive line?
Another.
I know not; he is long delayed.
Another.
God send he trip not on the bladeOf some Greek in an ambuscade!
Another.
It may be. I am half afraid.
Leader.
Our time is past! Up, men, and tellThe fifth watch. 'Tis the Lycians' spellNow, as the portions fairly fell.
[The Guards pass out to waken the Lycians. The stage is empty and dark except for the firelight, when a whisper is heard at the back. Presently enterOdysseusandDiomedein dull leather armour,Diomedecarrying at his beltDolon'swolf-skin and mask.
Odysseus.
Diomede, hist!—A little sound of armsClanking. . . or am I full of void alarms?
Diomede.
No. 'Tis some horse tied to the chariot railThat clanks his chain.—My heart began to failA moment, till I heard the horse's champ.
[They steal on further, keeping in the shadow.
Odysseus.
Mind—in that shade—the watchers of the camp.
Diomede.
I keep in shadow, but I am staring hard.
Odysseus.
Thou know'st the watchword, if we stir some guard?
Diomede.
Phoebus. 'Twas the last sign that Dolon gave.
[They creep forward in silence to the entrance ofHector'stent.
Odysseus.
Now, forward![They dash into the tent, swords drawn; then return.God! All empty as the grave!
Diomede.
Yet Dolon told us Hector's couch was madeJust here. For none but him I drew this blade.
Odysseus.
What means it? To some ambush is he gone?
Diomede.
Maybe, to work some craft on us at dawn.
Odysseus.
He is hot with courage when he is winning, hot.
Diomede.
What must we do, Odysseus?—He was notLaid where we thought him, and our hopes are lost.
Odysseus.
Back to our own ship-rampart at all cost!The God who gave him victory saves him still.We cannot force Fortune against her will.
Diomede.
Could we not find Aeneas? Or the bedOf Paris the accurst, and have his head?
Odysseus.
Go by night searching through these lines of menFor chiefs to kill? 'Twere death and death again.
Diomede.
But to go empty back—what shame 'twill be!—And not one blow struck home at the enemy!
Odysseus.
How not one blow? Did we not baulk and killDolon, their spy, and bear his tokens still?Dost think the whole camp should be thine to quell?
[DiomedetakesDolon'swolf-mask off his belt and hangs it inHector'stent, then turns.
Diomede.
Good. Now for home! And may the end be well!
[As they turn there appears at the back a luminous and gigantic shape, the GoddessAthena.
Athena.
What make ye, from these sleepers thus to partDesponding and with sorrow-wounded heartIf Hector be not granted you to slayNor Paris? Little know ye what great stayOf help is found for Troy. This very nightRhesus is come; who, if he see the lightOf morning, not Achilles nor the rackOf Ajax' spear hath power to hold him back,Ere wall and gate be shattered and insideYour camp a spear-swept causeway builded wideTo where beached galleys flame above the dead.Him slay, and all is won. Let Hector's headSleep where it lies and draw unvexèd breath;Another's work, not thine, is Hector's death.
Odysseus.
Most high Athena, well I know the soundOf that immortal voice. 'Tis ever foundMy helper in great perils.—Where doth lieRhesus, mid all this host of Barbary?
Athena.
Full near he lies, not mingled with the hostOf Troy, but here beyond the lines—a postOf quiet till the dawn, that Hector found.And near him, by his Thracian chariot bound,Two snow-white coursers gleam against the wanMoon, like the white wing of a river swan.Their master slain, take these to thine own hearth,A wondrous spoil; there hides not upon earthA chariot-team of war so swift and fair.
Odysseus.
Say, Diomede, wilt make the men thy share,Or catch the steeds and leave the fight to me?
Diomede.
I take the killing, thou the stablery:It needs keen wit and a neat hand. The postA man should take is where he helpeth most.
Athena.
Behold, 'tis Paris, hasting there towardThis tent. Methinks he knoweth from the guardSome noise of prowling Argives hither blown.
Diomede.
Comes he alone or with his guards?
Athena.
Alone;Toward Hector's quarters, as I deem, he pliesHis message. He hath heard some tale of spies.
Diomede.
Then he shall be the first dead Trojan!
Athena.
No;Beyond the ordainèd end thou canst not go.Fate hath not willed that Paris by thy deedShall die; it is another who must bleedTo-night. Therefore be swift![ExeuntOdysseusandDiomede.For me, my guiseShall melt and change in Alexander's eyes,Yea, till he dream 'tis Cypris, his delightAnd help in need, that meets him in the night,And soft shall be my words to him I hate.So speak I; but on whom my spell is setHe hears not, sees not, though so near I stand.[She becomes invisible where she stands.
EnterParis.
Paris.
Ho, Hector! Brother! General of the land!Sleepest thou still? We need thy waking sight.Our guards have marked some prowler of the night,We know not if a mere thief or a spy.
[Athenabecomes visible again, but seems changed and her voice softer.
Athena.
Have comfort thou! Doth not the Cyprian's eyeMark all thy peril and keep watch aboveThy battles? How shall I forget the loveI owe thee, and thy faithful offices?To crown this day and all its victories,Lo, I have guided here to Troy a strongHelper, the scion of the Muse of songAnd Strymon's flood, the crownèd stream of Thrace.
Paris(standing like one in a dream).
Indeed thy love is steadfast, and thy graceBounteous to Troy and me. Thou art the joyAnd jewel of my days, which I to TroyHave brought, and made thee hers.—O Cyprian,I heard, not clearly,—'twas some talk that ranAmong the pickets—spies had passed some spotClose by the camp. The men who saw them notTalk much, and they who saw, or might have seen,Can give no sign nor token. It had beenMy purpose to find Hector where he lay.
Athena.
Fear nothing. All is well in Troy's array.Hector is gone to help those Thracians sleep.
Paris.
Thy word doth rule me, Goddess. Yea, so deepMy trust is, that all thought of fear is lostIn comfort, and I turn me to my post.
Athena.
Go. And remember that thy fortunes stillAre watched by me, and they who do my willProsper in all their ways. Aye, thou shalt proveEre long, if I can care for those I love.[ExitParis.She raises her voice.Back, back, ye twain! Are ye in love with death?Laertes' son, thy sword into the sheath!Our golden Thracian gaspeth in his blood;The steeds are ours; the foe hath understoodAnd crowds against you. Haste ye! haste to fly,—Ere yet the lightning falleth, and ye die![Athenavanishes; a noise of tumult is heard.
Enter a crowd of Thracians running in confusion, in the midst of themOdysseusandDiomede.
Voices(amid the tumult).
Ha! Ha!—At them! At them! After them! Down with them!—Where are they?
Captain.
Who is that fellow? Look! That yonder!
A Man.
Rascal thieves, the sort that crawlAnd vex an army in the dark!
Captain.
Ho, this way! Follow! This way all!
[They pursueOdysseusandDiomede;catch them and bring them back.
A Man.
I have them! I have caught them!
Captain(toOdysseus).
Whence comest thou? What art thou? Say; what captain and what company?
Odysseus(indignantly).