And now Deïphobus he sees, the glorious Priam's son; But all his body mangled sore, his face all evilly hacked, His face and hands; yea, and his head, laid waste, the ear-lobes lacked, And nostrils cropped unto the root by wicked wound and grim. Scarcely he knew the trembling man, who strove to hide from him Those torments dire, but thus at last he spake in voice well known: "O great in arms, Deïphobus, from Teucer's blood come down, 500 Who had the heart to work on thee such bitter wicked bale? Who had the might to deal thee this? Indeed I heard the tale, That, tired with slaying of the Greeks on that last night of all, Upon a heap of mingled death thou didst to slumber fall: And I myself an empty tomb on that Rhoetean coast Set up to thee, and thrice aloud cried blessing on thy ghost: Thy name and arms still keep the place; but thee I found not, friend, To set thee in thy fathers' earth ere I too needs must wend." To him the child of Priam spake: "Friend, nought thou left'st undone; All things thou gav'st Deïphobus, and this dead shadowy one: 510 My Fates and that Laconian Bane, the Woman wicked-fair, Have drowned me in this sea of ills: she set these tokens here. How midst a lying happiness we wore the last night by 'Thou know'st: yea; overwell belike thou hold'st that memory Now when the baneful Horse of Fate high Pergamus leapt o'er, With womb come nigh unto the birth of weaponed men of war, She, feigning hallowed dance, led on a holy-shouting band Of Phrygian maids, and midst of them, the bale-fire in her hand, Called on the Danaan men to come, high on the castle's steep: But me, outworn with many cares and weighed adown with sleep, 520 The hapless bride-bed held meanwhile, and on me did there press Deep rest and sweet, most like indeed to death's own quietness. Therewith my glorious wife all arms from out the house withdrew, And stole away from o'er my head the sword whose faith I knew, Called Menelaüs to the house and opened him the door, Thinking, forsooth, great gift to give to him who loved so sore, To quench therewith the tale gone by of how she did amiss. Why linger? They break in on me, and he their fellow is, Ulysses, preacher of all guilt.--O Gods, will ye not pay The Greeks for all? belike with mouth not godless do I pray. 530 --But tell me, thou, what tidings new have brought thee here alive? Is it blind strayings o'er the sea that hither doth thee drive, Or bidding of the Gods? Wherein hath Fortune worn thee so, That thou, midst sunless houses sad, confused lands, must go?"