CHOR. Let some swift sentinel to Hector’s tent
Go and inquire if any messenger
Be yet arrived, who recent tidings bears
From those, who during the fourth nightly watch
Are by the host deputed. On your arm
Sustain your head, unfold those low’ring eyelids,
And from your lowly couch of withered leaves,
O Hector, rise, for it is time to listen.
HEC. Who comes? art thou a friend? pronounce the watchword.
Who are ye, that by night approach my bed?
Speak out.
CHOR. We guard the camp.
HEC. Why com’st thou hither
With this tumultuous haste?
CHOR. Be of good cheer.
HEC. I am. Hast thou discovered in the camp
This night some treachery?
CHOR. None.
HEC. Why then deserting
The post where thou art stationed, dost thou rouse
The troops, unless thou through this midnight gloom
Bring some important tidings? know’st thou not
That near the Argive host we under arms
Take our repose.
CHOR. Prepare your brave allies:
Go to their chambers, bid them wield the spear,
Rouse them from slumber, and despatch your friends
To your own troop; caparison the steeds.
Who bears the swift alarm to Pantheus’ son?
Who to Europa’s offspring, Lycia’s chief?
Where are the priests who should inspect the victims?
Who leads the light-armed squadron to the field?
And where are Phrygia’s archers? Let each bow
Be strung.
HEC. Thy tidings are in part alarming,
In part thou giv’st us courage, though thou speak
Nought plainly. By the terrifying scourge
Of Pan hast thou been smitten, that thou leav’st
Thy station to alarm the host? Explain
These clamorous sounds. What tidings shall I say
Thou bring’st? Thy words are many, but their drift
I comprehend not.
CHOR. All night long, O Hector,
The Grecian camp hath kindled fires, the torches
Amid their fleet are blazing, and the host
Tumultuous rush to Agamemnon’s tent,
At midnight calling on the king t’ assemble
A council: for the sailors never yet
Were thus alarmed. But I, because I fear
What may ensue, these tidings hither bring,
Lest you should charge me with a breach of duty.
HEC. Full seasonably thou com’st, although thou speak
Words fraught with terror: for these dastards hope
They in their barks shall from this shore escape
Ere I discover them: their kindled fires
Prove this suspicion. Thou, O partial Jove,
Hast robbed me of my triumph, like the prey
Torn from the lion, ere I have destroyed
With this avenging spear the Grecian host.
Had not the sun withdrawn his radiant beams,
I the successful battle had prolonged
Till I had burnt their ships, and hewn a way
Through their encampments, and in slaughter drenched
My bloody hand. I would have fought by night
And taken my advantage of the gales
Sent by auspicious fortune: but the wise,
And seers who knew the will of Heaven, advised me
To wait but till to-morrow’s dawn appeared,
And then sweep every Grecian from the land.
But now no longer will they stay to prove
The truth of what my prophets have foretold:
For cowards in the midnight gloom are brave.
Instantly therefore through the host proclaim
These orders: “Take up arms, and rouse from sleep;”
Pierced through the back as to the ships he flies,
So shall full many a dastard with his gore
Distain the steep ascent; the rest fast bound
In galling chains shall learn to till our fields.
CHOR. O Hector, ere you learn the real fact,
You are too hasty: for we know not yet
That they are flying.
HEC. Wherefore then by night
Are those fires kindled through the Grecian camp?
CHOR. I am not certain, though my soul full strongly
Suspects the cause.
HEC. If thou fear this, thou tremblest
At a mere shadow.
CHOR. Such a light ne’er blazed
Before among the foes.
HEC. Nor such defeat
In battle, did they e’er till now experience.
CHOR. This have you done; look now to what remains.
HEC. I give this short direction: take up arms
Against the foe.
CHOR. Behold! Æneas comes:
Sure, from his haste, some tidings, which deserve
His friends’ attentive ear, the warrior brings.