Stasimon 1
[Episode]
Great Peleus’ son, swift gleaming like a star.
HECTOR.
Poseidon, rider of the wild sea-drift,
Tamed them, men say, and gave them for his gift
To Peleus.—None the less, since I have stirred
Hopes, I will baulk them not. I pledge my word,
Achilles’ steeds, a rare prize, shall be thine.
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DOLON.
I thank thee.—’Tis indeed a prize more fine
Grudge me not that; there be
Guerdons abundant for a Prince like thee.
CHORUS.
O peril strange, O fearful prize!
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Yet win it and thy life hath wings:
A deed of glory in men’s eyes,
A greatness, to be wooed of kings.
If God but hearken to the right,
Thou drinkest to the full this night
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The cup of man’s imaginings.
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DOLON.
There lies the way.—But first I must go find
At home some body-shelter to my mind;
Then, forward to the ships of Argolis!
LEADER.
What other raiment wilt thou need than this?
DOLON.
A garb for work, for night; a thieving guise.
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LEADER.
’Tis good to learn the wisdoms of the wise.
What will thy wrapping be?
DOLON.
A grey wolf’s hide
Shall wrap my body close on either side;
My head shall be the mask of gleaming teeth,
My arms fit in the forepaws, like a sheath,
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My thighs in the hinder parts. No Greek shall tell
’Tis not a wolf that walks, half visible,
