LEADER.

Master, dost think already that our foe Is ta'en?

HECTOR.

I do. To-morrow's light will show.

LEADER. [vv. 332-345]

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 here As 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 thus Must needs make hatred.

SHEPHERD.

The mere sight of those I saw would sure cast fear upon our foes.

HECTOR (_yielding reluctantly, with a laugh_).

Ah, well; thy words are prudent; and (_To_ SHEPHERD) thine eyes See glorious things. With all these panoplies Of gold that filled our Shepherd's heart with joy, Bid Rhesus welcome, as war-friend to Troy.

[_Exit_ SHEPHERD; HECTOR _returns to his tent, amid the joy of the soldiers_.

CHORUS.

Now Adrasteia be near and guard Our 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 strong [vv. 346-378]

In the Hall of thy lovers, O child of Song; Thy mother the Muse and her fair-bridged River They 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 G.o.d 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 dances And 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 face And danced again in the dancing place; And the land shall laugh for the sheaves she reapeth, Of spoilers dead by a sword from Thrace.

_Enter_ RHESUS _in dazzling white armour, followed by his_ [vv. 379-395]

CHARIOTEER _and Attendants. The_ CHARIOTEER _carries his golden shield. The_ CHORUS _break into a shout of "All Hail!"_

LEADER.

All hail, great King! A whelp indeed Is 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 along The frontlet of that targe's hold.

CHORUS.

A G.o.d, O Troy, a G.o.d and more!

'Tis Ares' self, this issue strong Of Strymon and the Muse of song, Whose breath is fragrant on thy sh.o.r.e!

_Re-enter_ HECTOR.

RHESUS.

Lord Hector, Prince of Ilion, n.o.ble son Of n.o.ble sires, all hail! Long years have run Since last we greeted, and 'tis joy this day To see thy fortunes firm and thine array Camped at the foe's gate. Here am I to tame That foe for thee, and wrap his ships in flame.

HECTOR.

Thou child of Music and the Thracian flood, Strymonian Rhesus, truth is alway good In Hector's eyes. I wear no double heart.

Long, long ago thou shouldst have borne thy part [vv. 396-421]

In 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 amba.s.sadors prayed not before Thy 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 sup Who 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 prince And made thee mighty, I and this right hand; When round Pangaion and the Paion's land, Front against front, I burst upon the brood Of Thrace and broke their targes, and subdued Their power to thine. The grace whereof, not small, Thou hast spurned, and when thy kinsmen, drowning, call, Comest too late. Thou! Others there have been These long years, not by nature of our kin . . .

Some under yon rough barrows thou canst see Lie buried; they were true to Troy and me; And others, yet here in the shielded line Or mid the chariots, parching in the shine Of noonday, starving in the winds that bite Through Ilion's winter, still endure and fight On at my side. 'Twas not their way, to lie On 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 thine Hector is wroth, and tells thee to thy face.

RHESUS. [vv. 422-448]

Thy way is mine, friend. Straight I run my race In 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 stay Back from thy battles. 'Twas a folk that lay Hard 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 coast Of the Friendless Sea and purposed to have crossed My Thracians there. We turned; and all that plain Is trampled in a mire of Scythian slain Ploughed by our spears, and blood of Thrace withal Not stinted. This it was that drowned thy call For help and held me back from Ilion's need.

I broke their power; the princes of their breed I took to hostage, made their elders swear To bring my house due tribute, year by year, Then, never lagging, crossed the Pontus mouth, Marched by long stages through Bithynia south And here am come . . . not drunken with the feast, As thou wouldst have me be, not lulled to rest In golden chambers. In this harness hard I have borne my nights of winter storm that starred The Euxine into ice and scared the strong Paionians.

Long I have been, but not too long To save thee yet. Friend, this is the tenth year Thou labourest on unceasing, with no clear Vantage; day creeps by day, and Ares throws The same red dice for thee and for thy foes.

Now, hear my vow. Before one day's eclipse I swear to break their wall, to burn their ships And slay their princes. On the second day [vv. 449-473]

I leave this soil and take my homeward way, Thy pains relieved. No Trojan of the land Need move, nor turn the buckler in his hand.

Alone my late-comers will turn the tide And smite your Greeks, for all their bitter pride.

CHORUS.

[_The Trojan soldiers, who have been listening with delight, here break out in irrepressible applause._