Soon the blood by Calchas spilt

          On the altar heavenward smokes;

         Pallas, by whom towns are built

          And destroyed, the priest invokes;

         Neptune, too, who all the earth

          With his billowy girdle laves, —

         Zeus, who gives to terror birth,

          Who the dreaded Aegis waves.

         Now the weary fight is done,

          Ne'er again to be renewed;

         Time's wide circuit now is run,

          And the mighty town subdued!

         Atreus' son, the army's head,

          Told the people's numbers o'er,

         Whom he, as their captain, led

          To Scamander's vale of yore.

         Sorrow's black and heavy clouds

          Passed across the monarch's brow:

         Of those vast and valiant crowds,

          Oh, how few were left him now!

         Joyful songs let each one raise,

          Who will see his home again,

         In whose veins the life-blood plays,

          For, alas! not all remain!

         "All who homeward wend their way,

          Will not there find peace of mind;

         On their household altars, they

          Murder foul perchance may find.

         Many fall by false friend's stroke,

          Who in fight immortal proved: " —

         So Ulysses warning spoke,

          By Athene's spirit moved.

         Happy he, whose faithful spouse

          Guards his home with honor true!

         Woman ofttimes breaks her vows,

          Ever loves she what is new.

         And Atrides glories there

          In the prize he won in fight,

         And around her body fair

          Twines his arms with fond delight.

         Evil works must punished be.

          Vengeance follows after crime,

         For Kronion's just decree

          Rules the heavenly courts sublime.

         Evil must in evil end;

          Zeus will on the impious band

         Woe for broken guest-rights send,

          Weighing with impartial hand.

         "It may well the glad befit,"

          Cried Olleus' valiant son, 10

       "To extol the Gods who sit

          On Olympus' lofty throne!

         Fortune all her gifts supplies,

          Blindly, and no justice knows,

         For Patroclus buried lies,

          And Thersites homeward goes!

         Since she blindly throws away

          Each lot in her wheel contained,

         Let him shout with joy to-day

          Who the prize of life has gained."

         "Ay, the wars the best devour!

          Brother, we will think of thee,

         In the fight a very tower,

          When we join in revelry!

         When the Grecian ships were fired,

          By thine arm was safety brought;

         Yet the man by craft inspired 11

       Won the spoils thy valor sought.

         Peace be to thine ashes blest!

          Thou wert vanquished not in fight:

         Anger 'tis destroys the best, —

          Ajax fell by Ajax' might!"

         Neoptolemus poured then,

          To his sire renowned 12 the wine —

         "'Mongst the lots of earthly men,

          Mighty father, prize I thine!

         Of the goods that life supplies,

          Greatest far of all is fame;

         Though to dust the body flies,

          Yet still lives a noble name.

         Valiant one, thy glory's ray

          Will immortal be in song;

         For, though life may pass away,

          To all time the dead belong!"

         "Since the voice of minstrelsy

          Speaks not of the vanquished man,

         I will Hector's witness be," —

          Tydeus' noble son 13 began:

         "Fighting bravely in defence

          Of his household-gods he fell.

         Great the victor's glory thence,

          He in purpose did excel!