Great Agamemnon shudder’d as he saw The crimson drops out-welling from the wound; Shudder’d the warlike Menelaus’ self; But when not buried in his flesh he saw The barb and sinew, back his spirit came. Then deeply groaning, Agamemnon spoke, As Menelaus by the hand he held, And with him groan’d his comrades: “Brother dear, I wrought thy death when late, on compact sworn, I sent thee forth alone for Greece to fight; Wounded by Trojans, who their plighted faith Have trodden under foot; but not in vain Are solemn cov’nants and the blood of lambs, The treaty wine outpoured, and hand-plight given, Wherein men place their trust; if not at once, Yet soon or late will Jove assert their claim; And heavy penalties the perjured pay With their own blood, their children’s, and their wives’. So in my inmost soul full well I know The day shall come when this imperial Troy, And Priam’s race, and Priam’s royal self, Shall in one common ruin be o’erthrown; And Saturn’s son himself, high-throned Jove, Who dwells in Heav’n, shall in their faces flash His aegis dark and dread, this treach’rous deed Avenging; this shall surely come to pass. But, Menelaus, deep will be my grief, If thou shouldst perish, meeting thus thy fate. To thirsty Argos should I then return By foul disgrace o’erwhelm’d; for, with thy fall, The Greeks will mind them of their native land; And as a trophy to the sons of Troy The Argive Helen leave; thy bones meanwhile Shall moulder here beneath a foreign soil. Thy work undone; and with insulting scorn Some vaunting Trojan, leaping on the tomb Of noble Menelaus, thus shall say: ‘On all his foes may Agamemnon so His wrath accomplish, who hath hither led Of Greeks a mighty army, all in vain; And bootless home with empty ships hath gone, And valiant Menelaus left behind;’ Thus when men speak, gape, earth, and hide my shame.” To whom the fair-hair’d Menelaus thus With, cheering words: “Fear not thyself, nor cause The troops to fear: the arrow hath not touch’d A vital part: the sparkling belt hath first Turn’d it aside, the doublet next beneath, And coat of mail, the work of arm’rer’s hands.” To whom the monarch Agamemnon thus: “Dear Menelaus, may thy words be true! The leech shall tend thy wound, and spread it o’er With healing ointments to assuage the pain.” He said, and to the sacred herald call’d: “Haste thee, Talthybius! summon with all speed The son of Æsculapius, peerless leech, Machaon; bid him hither haste to see The warlike Menelaus, chief of Greeks, Who by an arrow from some practis’d hand, Trojan or Lycian, hath receiv’d a wound; A cause of boast to them, to us of grief.”