LEADER. My general, to reject an ally thus Must needs make hatred. SHEPHERD. The mere sight of those I saw would sure cast fear upon our foes. HECTOR (_yielding reluctantly, with a laugh_). Ah, well; thy words are prudent; and (_To_ SHEPHERD) thine eyes See glorious things. With all these panoplies Of gold that filled our Shepherd's heart with joy, Bid Rhesus welcome, as war-friend to Troy. [_Exit_ SHEPHERD; HECTOR _returns to his tent, amid the joy of the soldiers_. CHORUS. Now Adrasteia be near and guard Our lips from sin, lest the end be hard! But he cometh, he cometh, the Child of the River! The pride of my heart it shall roll unbarred. We craved thy coming; yea, need was strong [vv. 346-378] In the Hall of thy lovers, O child of Song; Thy mother the Muse and her fair-bridged River They held thee from us so long, so long! By Strymon's torrent alone she sang, And Strymon shivered and coiled and sprang; And her arms went wide to the wild sweet water, And the love of the River around her rang. We hail thee, Fruit of the River's seed, Young Zeus of the Dawn, on thy starry steed! O ancient City, O Ida's daughter, Is God the Deliverer found indeed? And men shall tell of thee, Ilion mine, Once more a-harping at day's decline, 'Mid laughing of lovers and lays and dances And challenge on challenge of circling wine? When the Greek is smitten that day shall be, And fled to Argolis over the sea: O mighty of hand, O leader of lances, Smite him, and heaven be good to thee! Thou Rider golden and swift and sheer, Achilles falters: appear! appear! The car like flame where the red shield leapeth, The fell white steeds and the burning spear! No Greek shall boast he hath seen thy face And danced again in the dancing place; And the land shall laugh for the sheaves she reapeth, Of spoilers dead by a sword from Thrace. _Enter_ RHESUS _in dazzling white armour, followed by his_ [vv. 379-395] CHARIOTEER _and Attendants. The_ CHARIOTEER _carries his golden shield. The_ CHORUS _break into a shout of "All Hail!"_ LEADER. All hail, great King! A whelp indeed Is born in Thracia's lion fold, Whose leap shall make strong cities bleed. Behold his body girt with gold, And hark the pride of bells along The frontlet of that targe's hold. CHORUS. A God, O Troy, a God and more! 'Tis Ares' self, this issue strong Of Strymon and the Muse of song, Whose breath is fragrant on thy shore! _Re-enter_ HECTOR. RHESUS.