Ajax and Ulysses were competitors for the arms of Achilles. The prize was awarded to Ulysses. Ajax, deeming himself wronged, sallies forth from his tent one night to take vengeance on those who had wronged him, especially Ulysses and the two sons of Atreus. Athene, ever watchful for her favourite Hellenes, smites Ajax with mental blindness, so that instead of falling on his enemies, he falls on the flocks and herds of the camp. Restored to his right mind, and finding how he has dishonoured himself, he falls upon his sword. * * * * * _THE HERO'S MADNESS._ Tecmessa, a captive with whom Ajax lives as his wife, tells the Chorus of Salaminian mariners what has befallen their chieftain. LINES 284-330. TECMESSA. Thou shalt hear all as one that shares our lot. It was the dead of night, and now no more The camp fires shone, when Ajax took his sword, Uncalled, and was in act to leave the tent, And I reproved him. "Ajax," I exclaimed, "What errand is it upon which you go Unbidden, summoned by no messenger, No trumpet call; the host is all asleep?" Brief was his answer in a well-known strain: "Peace, woman; silence best beseems thy sex." I said no more. He sallied forth alone. What may have there befallen I cannot say. Back to the tent he came, leading along As captives bulls and herdsmen's dogs and sheep, Of which a part he strangled, others felled And cleft in twain; others again he lashed, Treating those beasts like human prisoners. Then rushing out, he with some phantom talked, Launching against the sons of Atreus now, Now 'gainst Ulysses, ravings void of sense, Boasting how he had paid their insults home. Then once more rushing back into the tent, By slow degrees to his right mind he came. But when he saw the tent with carnage heaped, Crying aloud, he smote his head, and then Flung himself down amid the gory wreck, And with clenched fingers grasped and tore his hair. So a long time he sat and spoke no word. At last, with imprecations terrible If I refused, he bade me tell him all, What had befallen and how it came about. And I, my friends, o'erwhelmed with terror, told All that I knew of that which he had done. Thereat he uttered piercing cries of grief, Such as had never come from him before, For in loud lamentations to indulge He ever held a craven weakling's part, And, stifling outcries, moaned not loud but deep, Like the deep roaring of a wounded bull. But in this plight, prostrate and desperate, Refusing food and drink, my hero lies Amidst the mangled bodies, motionless. That he is brooding on some fell design, His wails and exclamations plainly show. But, O kind friends, 'twas to this end I came, Enter the tent and aid me if ye can; The words of friends are desperate sorrow's cure. * * * * * _REMORSE_. Ajax bewails his own fall. Tecmessa tries to comfort him, and turn him from violent courses. LINES 430-595. CHORUS.