The Trojans heard that shout, and saw that host, And marvelled. Crushed with fear were all their hearts Foreboding doom; for like a huge cloud seemed That throng of foes: with clashing arms they came: Volumed and vast the dust rose 'neath their feet. Then either did some God with hardihood thrill Deiphobus' heart, and made it void of fear, Or his own spirit spurred him on to fight, To drive by thrust of spear that terrible host Of foemen from the city of his birth. So there in Troy he cried with heartening speech: "O friends, be stout of heart to play the men! Remember all the agonies that war Brings in the end to them that yield to foes. Ye wrestle not for Alexander alone, Nor Helen, but for home, for your own lives, For wives, for little ones, for parents grey, For all the grace of life, for all ye have, For this dear land--oh may she shroud me o'er Slain in the battle, ere I see her lie 'Neath foemen's spears--my country! I know not A bitterer pang than this for hapless men! O be ye strong for battle! Forth to the fight With me, and thrust this horror far away! Think not Achilles liveth still to war Against us: him the ravening fire consumed. Some other Achaean was it who so late Enkindled them to war. Oh, shame it were If men who fight for fatherland should fear Achilles' self, or any Greek beside! Let us not flinch from war-toil! have we not Endured much battle-travail heretofore? What, know ye not that to men sorely tried Prosperity and joyance follow toil? So after scourging winds and ruining storms Zeus brings to men a morn of balmy air; After disease new strength comes, after war Peace: all things know Time's changeless law of change." Then eager all for war they armed themselves In haste. All through the town rang clangour of arms As for grim fight strong men arrayed their limbs. Here stood a wife, shuddering with dread of war, Yet piling, as she wept, her husband's arms Before his feet. There little children brought To a father his war-gear with eager haste; And now his heart was wrung to hear their sobs, And now he smiled on those small ministers, And stronger waxed his heart's resolve to fight To the last gasp for these, the near and dear. Yonder again, with hands that had not lost Old cunning, a grey father for the fray Girded a son, and murmured once and again: "Dear boy, yield thou to no man in the war!" And showed his son the old scars on his breast, Proud memories of fights fought long ago.