by Euripides
Long lines of horsemen, lines of targeteers,
Archers abundant; and behind them veers
A 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 sends
His favour, I shall find abundant friends.
I need them not; who never came of yore
To help us, when we rolled to death before
The war-swell, and the wind had ripped our sail.
Then Rhesus taught us Trojans what avail
His 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 here
He 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 foe
Is 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 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
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 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 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 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 God, O Troy, a God and more!
’Tis Ares’ self, this issue strong
Of Strymon and the Muse of song,
Whose breath is fragrant on thy shore!
Re-enter Hector.
Rhesus.
Lord Hector, Prince of Ilion, noble son
Of noble 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
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 ambassadors 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 Paiôn’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.
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 b
y 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
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.
All hail!
Sweet words and faithful heart!
Only may Zeus avert
From 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, how
Shall Ajax bear him now,
Or face thy lance? May I but stand that day
Watching to see him reel
Broken beneath thy steel,
And once in blood his many murders pay!
Rhesus.
Yea, more atonement thou shalt take from me
For this slow help. — May Adrasteia see
My heart and pardon! — When we two have set
Troy free from these who compass her with hate,
Soon as the Gods have had their first-fruits, I
With thee will sail — so help me Zeus on high! —
And sack all Hellas with the sword, till these
Doers of deeds shall know what suffering is.
Hector.
By heaven, could I once see this peril rolled
Past us, and live in Ilion as of old,
Untrembling, I would thank my gods! To seek
Argos 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 fight
To 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 thrown
One firebrand on the ships with me, why, then
Set 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 tough
And subtle fox, and brave; aye, brave enough.
No man of them hath harmed us more than he.
He climbed here to Athena’s sanctuary
One night, and stole her image clean away
To the Argive ships. Yes, and another day,
Guised as a wandering priest, in rags, he came
And walked straight through the Gates, made loud acclaim
Of curses on the Greek, spied out alone
All that he sought in Ilion, and was gone —
Gone, and the watch and helpers of the Gate
Dead! And in every ambush they have set
By the old Altar, close to Troy, we know
He sits — a murderous reptile of a foe!
Rhesus.
No brave man seeks so dastardly to harm
His battle-foes; he meets them arm to arm.
This Greek of thine, this sitter like a thief
In ambush, I will make of him my chief
Care. I will take him living, drive a straight
Stake through him, and so star him at the Gate
To feed your wide-winged vultures. ’Tis the death
Most meet for a lewd thief, who pillageth
God’s sanctuary, or so we hold in Thrace.
Hector (making no answer).
Seek first some sleep. There still remains a space
Of darkness. — I will show the spot that best
May suit you, somewhat sundered from the rest.
Should need arise, the password of the night
Is Phoebus: see your Thracians have it right.
[Turning to the Guards before he goes.
Advance beyond your stations, men, at some
Distance, and stay on watch till Dolon come
With word of the Argives’ counsel. If his vow
Prosper, he should be nearing us by now.
[Exeunt Hector and Rhesus and Attendants. The Guards, who have been below, come forward sleepily from the camp fire, and sit watching by Hector’s tent.
Chorus.
Say, whose is the watch? Who exchanges
With us? The first planets to rise
Are setting; the Pleiades seven
Move low on the margin of heaven,
And the Eagle is risen and ranges
The mid-vault of the skies.
Another.
No sleeping yet! Up from your couches
And 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 one
Koroibos, called the Mygdon’s Son.
The Guard.
And after?
The Other.
The Mount Taurus men
Had second watch: from them again
The Mysians took it. We came then.
A Guard.
’Tis surely time. Who will go tell
The fifth watch? ’Tis the Lycians’ spell
By now; ’twas thus the portions fell.
Another.
Nay, hearken! Again she is crying
Where 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 undying
The nightingale calls.
Another.
And on Ida the shepherds are waking
Their flocks for the upland. I hear
The skirl of a pipe very distant.
Another.
And sleep, it falls slow and insistent.
’Tis perilous sweet when the breaking
Of dawn is so near.
Divers Guards (talking).
Why have we still no word nor sign
Of that scout in the Argive line?
Another.
I know not; he is long delayed.
Another.
God send he trip not on the blade
Of some Greek in an ambuscade!
Another.
It may be. I am half afraid.
Leader.
Our time is past! Up, men, and tell
The fifth watch. ’Tis the Lycians’ spell
Now, 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 enter Odysseus and Diomede in dull leather armour, Diomede carrying at his belt Dolon’s wolf-skin and mask.
Odysseus.
Diomede, hist! — A little sound of arms
Clanking. . . or am I full of void alarms?
Diomede.
No. ’Tis some horse tied to the chariot rail
That clanks his chain. — My heart began to fail
A 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 of Hector’s tent.
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 made
Just 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 not
Laid 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 bed
Of Paris the accurst, and have his head?
Odysseus.
Go by night searching through these lines of men
For chiefs to kill? ‘Twere death and death again.
