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.
190
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!
195
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
200
The cup of man’s imaginings.
200
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!
