Epeisodion 1
SHEPHERD.
He told me what I sought, and there I stood
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Watching; and saw one gleaming like a God,
Tall in the darkness on a Thracian car.
A plate of red gold mated, like a bar,
His coursers’ necks, white, white as fallen snow.
A carven targe, with golden shapes aglow,
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Hung o’er his back. Before each courser’s head
A Gorgon, to the frontlet riveted,
With bells set round-like stories that they tell
Of Pallas’ shield-made music terrible.
The numbers of that host no pen could write
Nor reckon; ’tis a multitudinous sight,
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Long lines of horsemen, lines of targeteers,
Archers abundant; and behind them veers
A wavering horde, light-armed, in Thracian weed.
A friend is come to Ilion in her need
’Gainst whom no Argive, let him fly or stand,
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Shall aught avail nor ’scape his conquering hand.
LEADER.
Lo, when the Gods breathe gently o’er a town,
All runs to good, as water-streams run down.
