“Hector, I know thee, how unapt thou art To hearken to advice; because the Gods Have giv’n thee to excel in warlike might, Thou deemest thyself, in counsel too, supreme; Yet every gift thou canst not so combine: To one the Gods have granted warlike might, To one the dance, to one the lyre and song; While in another’s breast all-seeing Jove Hath plac’d the spirit of wisdom, and a mind Discerning, for the common good of all: By him are states preserv’d; and he himself Best knows the value of the precious gift. Then hear what seems to me the wisest course. On ev’ry side the circling ring of war Is blazing all around thee; and, thou seest, Our valiant Trojans, since the wall they scal’d, Or stand aloof, or scatter’d ’mid the ships Outnumber’d, with superior forces strive. Then thou, retiring, hither call the chiefs; Here take we counsel fully, if to fall Upon their well-mann’d ships, should Heaven vouchsafe The needful strength, or, scatheless yet, withdraw; For much I fear they soon will pay us back Their debt of yesterday; since in their ranks One yet remains insatiate of the fight, And he, methinks, not long will stand aloof.” Thus he: the prudent counsel Hector pleas’d; Down from his chariot with his arms he leap’d, And to Polydamas his speech address’d: “Polydamas, detain thou here the chiefs; Thither will I, and meet the front of war, And, giv’n my orders, quickly here return.” He said; and, like a snow-clad mountain high, Uprose; and loudly shouting, in hot haste Flew through the Trojan and Confed’rate host. At sound of Hector’s voice, round Panthous’ son, Polydamas, were gather’d all the chiefs. But ’mid the foremost combatants he sought If haply he might find Deiphobus, And royal Helenus, and Adamas, And gallant Asius, son of Hyrtacus. These found he not unscath’d by wounds or death; For some beside the ships of Greece had paid, By Grecian hands, the forfeit of their lives, While others wounded lay within the wall. But, to the leftward of the bloody fray, The godlike Paris, fair-hair’d Helen’s Lord, Cheering his comrades to the fight, he found, And with reproachful words address’d him thus: “Thou wretched Paris, fair in outward form, Thou slave of woman, manhood’s counterfeit, Where is Deiphobus, and where the might Of royal Helenus? where Adamas, The son of Asius? where too Asius, son Of Hyrtacus? and where Othryoneus? Now from its summit totters to the fall Our lofty Ilium; now thy doom is sure.”