I know not rightly, though one well may guess. 'Tis hard to land at night, with such a press Of spears, on a strange coast, where rumours tell Of foes through all the plain-land. We that dwell On Ida, in the rock, Troy's ancient root And hearth-stone, were well frighted, through the mute [vv. 289-316] And wolfish thickets thus to hear him break. A great and rushing noise those Thracians make, Marching. We, all astonied, ran to drive Our sheep to the upmost heights. 'Twas some Argive, We thought, who came to sweep the mountain clear And waste thy folds; till suddenly our ear Caught at their speech, and knew 'twas nothing Greek. Then all our terror fled. I ran to seek Some scout or pioneer who led the van And called in Thracian: "Ho, what child of man Doth lead you? From what nation do ye bring This host with aid to Ilion and her king?" He told me what I sought, and there I stood Watching; and saw one gleaming like a God, Tall in the darkness on a Thracian car. A plate of red gold mated, like a bar, His coursers' necks, white, white as fallen snow. A carven targe, with golden shapes aglow, Hung o'er his back. Before each courser's head A Gorgon, to the frontlet riveted, With bells set round--like stories that they tell Of Pallas' shield--made music terrible. The numbers of that host no pen could write Nor reckon; 'tis a multitudinous sight, Long lines of horsemen, lines of targeteers, Archers abundant; and behind them veers A wavering horde, light-armed, in Thracian weed. A friend is come to Ilion in her need 'Gainst whom no Argive, let him fly or stand, Shall aught avail nor 'scape his conquering hand. LEADER. [vv. 317-331] Lo, when the Gods breathe gently o'er a town, All runs to good, as water-streams run down. HECTOR (_bitterly_). Aye, when my spear hath fortune, when God sends His favour, I shall find abundant friends. I need them not; who never came of yore To help us, when we rolled to death before The war-swell, and the wind had ripped our sail. Then Rhesus taught us Trojans what avail His words are.--He comes early to the feast; Where was he when the hunters met the beast? Where, when we sank beneath the Argive spear? LEADER. Well may'st thou mock and blame thy friend. Yet here He comes with help for Troy. Accept him thou. HECTOR. We are enough, who have held the wall till now. LEADER. Master, dost think already that our foe Is ta'en? HECTOR. I do. To-morrow's light will show. LEADER. [vv. 332-345] Have care. Fate often flings a backward cast. HECTOR. I hate the help that comes when need is past . . . Howbeit, once come, I bid him welcome here As guest--not war-friend; guest to share our cheer. The thanks are lost, he might have won from us.