I swore thy death, my brother, when I swore This truce, and set thee forth in sight of Greeks180 And Trojans, our sole champion; for the foe Hath trodden underfoot his sacred oath, And stained it with thy blood. But not in vain, The truce was ratified, the blood of lambs Poured forth, libation made, and right hands join’d185 In holy confidence. The wrath of Jove May sleep, but will not always; they shall pay Dear penalty; their own obnoxious heads Shall be the mulct, their children and their wives. For this I know, know surely; that a day190 Shall come, when Ilium, when the warlike King Of Ilium and his host shall perish all. Saturnian Jove high-throned, dwelling in heaven, Resentful of this outrage, then shall shake His storm-clad Ægis over them. He will;195 I speak no fable. Time shall prove me true. But, oh my Menelaus, dire distress Awaits me, if thy close of life be come, And thou must die. Then ignominy foul Shall hunt me back to Argos long-desired;200 For then all here will recollect their home, And, hope abandoning, will Helen yield To be the boast of Priam, and of Troy. So shall our toils be vain, and while thy bones Shall waste these clods beneath, Troy’s haughty sons205 The tomb of Menelaus glory-crown’d Insulting barbarous, shall scoff at me. So may Atrides, shall they say, perform His anger still as he performed it here, Whither he led an unsuccessful host,210 Whence he hath sail’d again without the spoils, And where he left his brother’s bones to rot. So shall the Trojan speak; then open earth Her mouth, and hide me in her deepest gulfs! But him, the hero of the golden locks215 Thus cheer’d. My brother, fear not, nor infect With fear the Grecians; the sharp-pointed reed Hath touch’d no vital part. The broider’d zone, The hauberk, and the tough interior quilt, Work of the armorer, its force repress’d.220 Him answer’d Agamemnon, King of men. So be it brother! but the hand of one Skilful to heal shall visit and shall dress The wound with drugs of pain-assuaging power. He ended, and his noble herald, next,225 Bespake, Talthybius. Haste, call hither quick The son of Æsculapius, leech renown’d, The prince Machaon. Bid him fly to attend The warlike Chieftain Menelaus; him Some archer, either Lycian or of Troy,230 A dexterous one, hath stricken with a shaft To his own glory, and to our distress. He spake, nor him the herald disobey’d, But through the Greeks bright-arm’d his course began The Hero seeking earnest on all sides235 Machaon. Him, ere long, he station’d saw Amid the shielded-ranks of his brave band From steed-famed Tricca drawn, and at his side With accents ardor-wing’d, him thus address’d. Haste, Asclepiades! The King of men240 Calls thee. Delay not. Thou must visit quick Brave Menelaus, Atreus’ son, for him Some archer, either Lycian or of Troy, A dexterous one, hath stricken with a shaft To his own glory, and to our distress.245 So saying, he roused Machaon, who his course Through the wide host began. Arriving soon