But hard thereby the father gazed thereon In agony, and cried the rescue-cry To other his war-comrades for their aid Against the foe. Himself too burned to fight From his war-car; for yearning for the dead Goaded him to the fray beyond his strength. Ay, and himself had been on his dear son Laid, numbered with the dead, had not the voice Of Memnon stayed him even in act to rush Upon him, for he reverenced in his heart The white hairs of an age-mate of his sire: "Ancient," he cried, "it were my shame to fight. With one so much mine elder: I am not Blind unto honour. Verily I weened That this was some young warrior, when I saw Thee facing thus the foe. My bold heart hoped For contest worthy of mine hand and spear. Nay, draw thou back afar from battle-toil And bitter death. Go, lest, how loth soe'er, I smite thee of sore need. Nay, fall not thou Beside thy son, against a mightier man Fighting, lest men with folly thee should charge, For folly it is that braves o'ermastering might." He spake, and answered him that warrior old: "Nay, Memnon, vain was that last word of thine. None would name fool the father who essayed, Battling with foes for his son's sake, to thrust The ruthless slayer back from that dear corpse, But ah that yet my strength were whole in me, That thou might'st know my spear! Now canst thou vaunt Proudly enow: a young man's heart is bold And light his wit. Uplifted is thy soul And vain thy speech. If in my strength of youth Thou hadst met me--ha, thy friends had not rejoiced, For all thy might! But me the grievous weight Of age bows down, like an old lion whom A cur may boldly drive back from the fold, For that he cannot, in his wrath's despite, Maintain his own cause, being toothless now, And strengthless, and his strong heart tamed by time. So well the springs of olden strength no more Now in my breast. Yet am I stronger still Than many men; my grey hairs yield to few That have within them all the strength of youth."