So spake he but to try the Argive men. Far other thoughts than these made his heart burn With passionate desire to slay his foes, To break the long walls of their city down From their foundations, and to glut with blood Ares, when Paris mid the slain should fall. Fiercer is naught than passionate desire! Thus as he pondered, sitting in his place, Uprose Tydeides, shaker of the shield, And chode in fiery speech with Menelaus: "O coward Atreus' son, what craven fear Hath gripped thee, that thou speakest so to us As might a weakling child or woman speak? Not unto thee Achaea's noblest sons Will hearken, ere Troy's coronal of towers Be wholly dashed to the dust: for unto men Valour is high renown, and flight is shame! If any man shall hearken to the words Of this thy counsel, I will smite from him His head with sharp blue steel, and hurl it down For soaring kites to feast on. Up! all ye Who care to enkindle men to battle: rouse Our warriors all throughout the fleet to whet The spear, to burnish corslet, helm and shield; And cause both man and horse, all which be keen In fight, to break their fast. Then in yon plain Who is the stronger Ares shall decide." So speaking, in his place he sat him down; Then rose up Thestor's son, and in the midst, Where meet it is to speak, stood forth and cried: "Hear me, ye sons of battle-biding Greeks: Ye know I have the spirit of prophecy. Erewhile I said that ye in the tenth year Should lay waste towered Ilium: this the Gods Are even now fulfilling; victory lies At the Argives' very feet. Come, let us send Tydeides and Odysseus battle-staunch With speed to Scyros overseas, by prayers Hither to bring Achilles' hero son: A light of victory shall he be to us." So spake wise Thestius' son, and all the folk Shouted for joy; for all their hearts and hopes Yearned to see Calchas' prophecy fulfilled. Then to the Argives spake Laertes' son: "Friends, it befits not to say many words This day to you, in sorrow's weariness. I know that wearied men can find no joy In speech or song, though the Pierides, The immortal Muses, love it. At such time Few words do men desire. But now, this thing That pleaseth all the Achaean host, will I Accomplish, so Tydeides fare with me; For, if we twain go, we shall surely bring, Won by our words, war-fain Achilles' son, Yea, though his mother, weeping sore, should strive Within her halls to keep him; for mine heart Trusts that he is a hero's valorous son."