'The longing to be gone from Troy fell oft upon the Greeks, And oft they fain had turned their backs on war without an end, (I would they had), and oft as they were e'en at point to wend 110 A tempest would forbid the sea, or southern gale would scare, And chiefly when with maple-beams this horse that standeth here They fashioned, mighty din of storm did all the heavens fulfil. So held aback, Eurypylus we sent to learn the will Of Phoebus: from the shrine he brought such heavy words as these: _With blood and with a virgin's death did ye the winds appease_ _When first ye came, O Danaan folk, unto the Ilian shore;_ _With blood and with an Argive soul the Gods shall ye adore_ _For your return._ 'Now when that word men's ears had gone about Their hearts stood still, and tremors cold took all their bones for doubt What man the Fates had doomed thereto, what man Apollo would. 121 Amidst us then the Ithacan drags in with clamour rude Calchas the seer, and wearieth him the Gods' will to declare. Of that craftsmaster's cruel guile had many bade beware In words, and many silently foresaw the coming death. Twice five days Calchas holdeth peace and, hidden, gainsayeth To speak the word that any man to very death should cast, Till hardly, by Ulysses' noise sore driven, at the last He brake out with the speech agreed, and on me laid the doom; All cried assent, and what each man feared on himself might come, 130 'Gainst one poor wretch's end of days with ready hands they bear. Now came the evil day; for me the rites do men prepare, The salted cakes, the holy strings to do my brows about. I needs must say I brake my bonds, from Death's house gat me out, And night-long lay amid the sedge by muddy marish side Till they spread sail, if they perchance should win their sailing tide. Nor have I hope to see again my fatherland of old; My longed-for father and sweet sons I never shall behold; On whom the guilt of me who fled mayhappen men will lay, And with their death for my default the hapless ones shall pay. 140 But by the might of very God, all sooth that knoweth well, By all the unstained faith that yet mid mortal men doth dwell, If aught be left, I pray you now to pity such distress! Pity a heart by troubles tried beyond its worthiness!' His weeping won his life of us, and pity thereunto, And Priam was the first who bade his irons to undo, And hand-bonds, and in friendly words unto the man he speaks: 'Whoso thou art, henceforward now forget thy missing Greeks; Thou shalt be ours: but learn me now, who fain the sooth would wot, Wherefore they built this world of horse, what craftsman him begot, 150 And what to do? What gift for Gods; what gin of war is he?'