Epeisodion 2
LEADER.
All hail, great King! A whelp indeed
Is born in Thracia’s lion fold,
380
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!
385
’Tis Ares’ self, this issue strong
385
Of Strymon and the Muse of song,
Whose breath is fragrant on thy shore!
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
390
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.
395
Long, long ago thou shouldst have borne thy part
