How from his long lone exile returned to the war Philoctetes.
When ended was night's darkness, and the Dawn Rose from the world's verge, and the wide air glowed With splendour, then did Argos' warrior-sons Gaze o'er the plain; and lo, all cloudless-clear Stood Ilium's towers. The marvel of yesterday Seemed a strange dream. No thought the Trojans had Of standing forth to fight without the wall.
A great fear held them thralls, the awful thought That yet alive was Peleus' glorious son.
But to the King of Heaven Antenor cried:
"Zeus, Lord of Ida and the starry sky, Hearken my prayer! Oh turn back from our town That battle-eager murderous-hearted man, Be he Achilles who hath not passed down To Hades, or some other like to him.
For now in heaven-descended Priam's burg By thousands are her people perishing:
No respite cometh from calamity:
Murder and havoc evermore increase.
O Father Zeus, thou carest not though we Be slaughtered of our foes: thou helpest them, Forgetting thy son, godlike Dardanus!
But, if this be the purpose of thine heart That Argives shall destroy us wretchedly, Now do it: draw not out our agony!"
In passionate prayer he cried; and Zeus from heaven Hearkened, and hasted on the end of all, Which else he had delayed. He granted him This awful boon, that myriads of Troy's sons Should with their children perish: but that prayer He granted not, to turn Achilles' son Back from the wide-wayed town; nay, all the more He enkindled him to war, for he would now Give grace and glory to the Nereid Queen.
So purposed he, of all Gods mightiest.
But now between the city and Hellespont Were Greeks and Trojans burning men and steeds In battle slain, while paused the murderous strife.
For Priam sent his herald Menoetes forth To Agamemnon and the Achaean chiefs, Asking a truce wherein to burn the dead;
And they, of reverence for the slain, gave ear;
For wrath pursueth not the dead. And when They had lain their slain on those close-thronging pyres, Then did the Argives to their tents return, And unto Priam's gold-abounding halls The Trojans, for Eurypylus sorrowing sore:
For even as Priam's sons they honoured him.
Therefore apart from all the other slain, Before the Gate Dardanian -- where the streams Of eddying Xanthus down from Ida flow Fed by the rains of heavens -- they buried him.
Aweless Achilles' son the while went forth To his sire's huge tomb. Outpouring tears, he kissed The tall memorial pillar of the dead, And groaning clasped it round, and thus he cried:
"Hail, father! Though beneath the earth thou lie In Hades' halls, I shall forget thee not.
Oh to have met thee living mid the host!
Then of each other had our souls had joy, Then of her wealth had we spoiled Ilium.
But now, thou hast not seen thy child, nor I Seen thee, who yearned to look on thee in life.
Yet, though thou be afar amidst the dead, Thy spear, thy son, have made thy foes to quail;
And Danaans with exceeding joy behold One like to thee in stature, fame and deeds."
He spake, and wiped the hot tears from his face;
And to his father's ships passed swiftly thence:
With him went Myrmidon warriors two and ten, And white-haired Phoenix followed on with these Woefully sighing for the glorious dead.
Night rose o'er earth, the stars flashed out in heaven;
So these brake bread, and slept till woke the Dawn.
Then the Greeks donned their armour: flashed afar Its splendour up to the very firmament.
Forth of their gates in one great throng they poured, Like snowflakes thick and fast, which drift adown Heavily from the clouds in winter's cold;
So streamed they forth before the wall, and rose Their dread shout: groaned the deep earth 'neath their tramp.
The Trojans heard that shout, and saw that host, And marvelled. Crushed with fear were all their hearts Foreboding doom; for like a huge cloud seemed That throng of foes: with clashing arms they came:
Volumed and vast the dust rose 'neath their feet.
Then either did some God with hardihood thrill Deiphobus' heart, and made it void of fear, Or his own spirit spurred him on to fight, To drive by thrust of spear that terrible host Of foemen from the city of his birth.
So there in Troy he cried with heartening speech:
"O friends, be stout of heart to play the men!
Remember all the agonies that war Brings in the end to them that yield to foes.
Ye wrestle not for Alexander alone, Nor Helen, but for home, for your own lives, For wives, for little ones, for parents grey, For all the grace of life, for all ye have, For this dear land -- oh may she shroud me o'er Slain in the battle, ere I see her lie 'Neath foemen's spears -- my country! I know not A bitterer pang than this for hapless men!
O be ye strong for battle! Forth to the fight With me, and thrust this horror far away!
Think not Achilles liveth still to war Against us: him the ravening fire consumed.
Some other Achaean was it who so late Enkindled them to war. Oh, shame it were If men who fight for fatherland should fear Achilles' self, or any Greek beside!
Let us not flinch from war-toil! have we not Endured much battle-travail heretofore?
What, know ye not that to men sorely tried Prosperity and joyance follow toil?
So after scourging winds and ruining storms Zeus brings to men a morn of balmy air;
After disease new strength comes, after war Peace: all things know Time's changeless law of change."
Then eager all for war they armed themselves In haste. All through the town rang clangour of arms As for grim fight strong men arrayed their limbs.
Here stood a wife, shuddering with dread of war, Yet piling, as she wept, her husband's arms Before his feet. There little children brought To a father his war-gear with eager haste;
And now his heart was wrung to hear their sobs, And now he smiled on those small ministers, And stronger waxed his heart's resolve to fight To the last gasp for these, the near and dear.
Yonder again, with hands that had not lost Old cunning, a grey father for the fray Girded a son, and murmured once and again:
"Dear boy, yield thou to no man in the war!"
