To whom in answer, Helen, heav’nly fair: “With rev’rence, dearest father, and with shame I look on thee: oh would that I had died That day when hither with thy son I came, And left my husband, friends, and darling child, And all the lov’d companions of my youth: That I died not, with grief I pine away. But to thy question; I will tell thee true; Yon chief is Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, Wide-reigning, mighty monarch, ruler good, And valiant warrior; in my husband’s name, Lost as I am, I call’d him brother once.” She spoke: th’ old man admiring gaz’d, and cried, “Oh bless’d Atrides, child of happy fate, Favour’d of Heav’n! how many noble Greeks Obey thy rule! In vine-clad Phrygia once I saw the hosts of Phrygian warriors wheel Their rapid steeds; and with them, all the bands Of Otreus, and of Mygdon, godlike King, Who lay encamp’d beside Sangarius’ stream: I too with them was number’d, in the day When met them in the field the Amazons, The woman-warriors; but their forces all Reach’d not the number of the keen-ey’d Greeks.” Ulysses next the old man saw, and ask’d, “Tell me again, dear child, who this may be, In stature less than Atreus’ royal son, But broader-shoulder’d, and of ampler chest. His arms are laid upon the fertile plain, But he himself is moving through the ranks, Inspecting, like a full-fleec’d ram, that moves Majestic through a flock of snow-white ewes.” To whom Jove’s offspring, Helen, thus replied: “The wise Ulysses that, Laertes’ son: Though bred in rugged Ithaca, yet vers’d In ev’ry stratagem, and deep device.” “O woman,” then the sage Antenor said, “Of these thy words I can the truth avouch; For hither when on thine account to treat, Brave Menelaus and Ulysses came, I lodg’d them in my house, and lov’d them both, And studied well the form and mind of each. As they with Trojans mix’d in social guise, When both were standing, o’er his comrade high With broad-set shoulders Menelaus stood; Seated, Ulysses was the nobler form: Then, in the great Assembly, when to all Their public speech and argument they fram’d, In fluent language Menelaus spoke, In words though few, yet clear; though young in years, No wordy babbler, wasteful of his speech: But when the skill’d Ulysses rose to speak, With down-cast visage would he stand, his eyes Bent on the ground; the staff he bore, nor back He wav’d, nor forward, but like one untaught, He held it motionless; who only saw Would say that he was mad, or void of sense; But when his chest its deep-ton’d voice sent forth, With words that fell like flakes of wintry snow, No mortal with Ulysses could compare: Then little reck’d we of his outward show.” At sight of Ajax next th’ old man enquir’d; “Who is yon other warrior, brave and strong, Tow’ring o’er all with head and shoulders broad?”