Full soon to fish-fraught Hellespont they came And the far-stretching ships. Glad were the Greeks To see the longed-for faces. Forth the ship With joy they stepped; and Poeas' valiant son On those two heroes leaned thin wasted hands, Who bare him painfully halting to the shore Staying his weight upon their brawny arms. As seems mid mountain-brakes an oak or pine By strength of the woodcutter half hewn through, Which for a little stands on what was left Of the smooth trunk by him who hewed thereat Hard by the roots, that its slow-smouldering wood Might yield him pitch--now like to one in pain It groans, in weakness borne down by the wind, Yet is upstayed upon its leafy boughs Which from the earth bear up its helpless weight; So by pain unendurable bowed down Leaned he on those brave heroes, and was borne Unto the war-host. Men beheld, and all Compassionated that great archer, crushed By anguish of his hurt. But one drew near, Podaleirius, godlike in his power to heal. Swifter than thought he made him whole and sound; For deftly on the wound he spread his salves, Calling on his physician-father's name; And soon the Achaeans shouted all for joy, All praising with one voice Asclepius' son. Lovingly then they bathed him, and with oil Anointed. All his heaviness of cheer And misery vanished by the Immortals' will; And glad at heart were all that looked on him; And from affliction he awoke to joy. Over the bloodless face the flush of health Glowed, and for wretched weakness mighty strength Thrilled through him: goodly and great waxed all his limbs. As when a field of corn revives again Which erst had drooped, by rains of ruining storm Down beaten flat, but by warm summer winds Requickened, o'er the laboured land it smiles, So Philoctetes' erstwhile wasted frame Was all requickened:--in the galley's hold He seemed to have left all cares that crushed his soul.