Here to abide till Ilium wall’d to heaven Should vanquish’d sink, and all her wealth be ours. No—now, like widow’d women, or weak boys, They whimper to each other, wishing home. And home, I grant, to the afflicted soul350 Seems pleasant.[11] The poor seaman from his wife One month detain’d, cheerless his ship and sad Possesses, by the force of wintry blasts, And by the billows of the troubled deep Fast lock’d in port. But us the ninth long year355 Revolving, finds camp’d under Ilium still. I therefore blame not, if they mourn beside Their sable barks, the Grecians. Yet the shame That must attend us after absence long Returning unsuccessful, who can bear?360 Be patient, friends! wait only till we learn If Calchas truly prophesied, or not; For well we know, and I to all appeal, Whom Fate hath not already snatch’d away, (It seems but yesterday, or at the most365 A day or two before) that when the ships Wo-fraught for Priam, and the race of Troy, At Aulis met, and we beside the fount With perfect hecatombs the Gods adored Beneath the plane-tree, from whose root a stream370 Ran crystal-clear, there we beheld a sign Wonderful in all eyes. A serpent huge, Tremendous spectacle! with crimson spots His back all dappled, by Olympian Jove Himself protruded, from the altar’s foot375 Slipp’d into light, and glided to the tree. There on the topmost bough, close-cover’d sat With foliage broad, eight sparrows, younglings all, Then newly feather’d, with their dam, the ninth. The little ones lamenting shrill he gorged,380 While, wheeling o’er his head, with screams the dam Bewail’d her darling brood. Her also next, Hovering and clamoring, he by the wing Within his spiry folds drew, and devoured. All eaten thus, the nestlings and the dam,385 The God who sent him, signalized him too, For him Saturnian Jove transform’d to stone. We wondering stood, to see that strange portent Intrude itself into our holy rites, When Calchas, instant, thus the sign explain’d.390 Why stand ye, Greeks, astonish’d? Ye behold A prodigy by Jove himself produced, An omen, whose accomplishment indeed Is distant, but whose fame shall never die.[12] E’en as this serpent in your sight devour’d395 Eight youngling sparrows, with their dam, the ninth, So we nine years must war on yonder plain, And in the tenth, wide-bulwark’d Troy is ours. So spake the seer, and as he spake, is done. Wait, therefore, brave Achaians! go not hence400 Till Priam’s spacious city be your prize. He ceased, and such a shout ensued, that all The hollow ships the deafening roar return’d Of acclamation, every voice the speech Extolling of Ulysses, glorious Chief.405 Then Nestor the Gerenian,[13] warrior old, Arising, spake; and, by the Gods, he said, Ye more resemble children inexpert In war, than disciplined and prudent men. Where now are all your promises and vows,410 Councils, libations, right-hand covenants?[14] Burn them, since all our occupation here Is to debate and wrangle, whereof end