So a voice murmured mid the Achaean host. Then, to stir up the heroes, Nestor cried: "Now is the time, dear sons, for courage and strength: Now do the Gods bring nigh the end of toil: Now give they victory to our longing hands. Come, bravely enter ye this cavernous Horse. For high renown attendeth courage high. Oh that my limbs were mighty as of old, When Aeson's son for heroes called, to man Swift Argo, when of the heroes foremost I Would gladly have entered her, but Pelias The king withheld me in my own despite. Ah me, but now the burden of years--O nay, As I were young, into the Horse will I Fearlessly! Glory and strength shall courage give." Answered him golden-haired Achilles' son: "Nestor, in wisdom art thou chief of men; But cruel age hath caught thee in his grip: No more thy strength may match thy gallant will; Therefore thou needs must unto Tenedos' strand. We will take ambush, we the youths, of strife Insatiate still, as thou, old sire, dost bid." Then strode the son of Neleus to his side, And kissed his hands, and kissed the head of him Who offered thus himself the first of all To enter that huge horse, being peril-fain, And bade the elder of days abide without. Then to the battle-eager spake the old: "Thy father's son art thou! Achilles' might And chivalrous speech be here! O, sure am I That by thine hands the Argives shall destroy The stately city of Priam. At the last, After long travail, glory shall be ours, Ours, after toil and tribulation of war; The Gods have laid tribulation at men's feet But happiness far off, and toil between: Therefore for men full easy is the path To ruin, and the path to fame is hard, Where feet must press right on through painful toil." He spake: replied Achilles' glorious son: "Old sire, as thine heart trusteth, be it vouchsafed In answer to our prayers; for best were this: But if the Gods will otherwise, be it so. Ay, gladlier would I fall with glory in fight Than flee from Troy, bowed 'neath a load of shame." Then in his sire's celestial arms he arrayed His shoulders; and with speed in harness sheathed Stood the most mighty heroes, in whose healers Was dauntless spirit. Tell, ye Queens of Song, Now man by man the names of all that passed Into the cavernous Horse; for ye inspired My soul with all my song, long ere my cheek Grew dark with manhood's beard, what time I fed My goodly sheep on Smyrna's pasture-lea, From Hermus thrice so far as one may hear A man's shout, by the fane of Artemis, In the Deliverer's Grove, upon a hill Neither exceeding low nor passing high.