Epeisodion 3
ATHENA.
And soft shall be my words to him I hate.
So speak I; but on whom my spell is set
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He hears not, sees not, though so near I stand.
PARIS.
Ho, Hector! Brother! General of the land!
Sleepest thou still? We need thy waking sight.
Our guards have marked some prowler of the night,
We know not if a mere thief or a spy.
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ATHENA.
Have comfort thou! Doth not the Cyprian’s eye
Mark all thy peril and keep watch above
Thy battles? How shall I forget the love
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,
655
I heard, not clearly,—’twas some talk that ran
