Epeisodion 3
ATHENA.
I owe thee, and thy faithful offices?
To crown this day and all its victories,
Lo, I have guided here to Troy a strong
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Helper, the scion of the Muse of song
And Strymon’s flood, the crownèd stream of Thrace.
PARIS.
Indeed thy love is steadfast, and thy grace
Bounteous to Troy and me. Thou art the joy
And jewel of my days, which I to Troy
Have brought, and made thee hers.—O Cyprian,
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I heard, not clearly,—’twas some talk that ran
Among the pickets—spies had passed some spot
Close by the camp. The men who saw them not
Talk much, and they who saw, or might have seen,
Can give no sign nor token. It had been
My purpose to find Hector where he lay.
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ATHENA.
Fear nothing. All is well in Troy’s array.
Hector is gone to help those Thracians sleep.
PARIS.
Thy word doth rule me, Goddess. Yea, so deep
My trust is, that all thought of fear is lost
In comfort, and I turn me to my post.
ATHENA.
Go. And remember that thy fortunes still
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Are watched by me, and they who do my will
Prosper in all their ways. Aye, thou shalt prove
Ere long, if I can care for those I love.
Back, back, ye twain! Are ye in love with death?
Laertes’ son, thy sword into the sheath!
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Our golden Thracian gaspeth in his blood;
The steeds are ours; the foe hath understood
And crowds against you. Haste ye! haste to fly,—
Ere yet the lightning falleth, and ye die!
