What make ye, from these sleepers thus to part Desponding and with sorrow-wounded heart If Hector be not granted you to slay Nor Paris? Little know ye what great stay Of help is found for Troy. This very night [vv. 599-623] Rhesus is come; who, if he see the light Of morning, not Achilles nor the rack Of Ajax' spear hath power to hold him back, Ere wall and gate be shattered and inside Your camp a spear-swept causeway builded wide To where beached galleys flame above the dead. Him slay, and all is won. Let Hector's head Sleep where it lies and draw unvexèd breath; Another's work, not thine, is Hector's death. ODYSSEUS. Most high Athena, well I know the sound Of that immortal voice. 'Tis ever found My helper in great perils.--Where doth lie Rhesus, mid all this host of Barbary? ATHENA. Full near he lies, not mingled with the host Of Troy, but here beyond the lines--a post Of quiet till the dawn, that Hector found. And near him, by his Thracian chariot bound, Two snow-white coursers gleam against the wan Moon, like the white wing of a river swan. Their master slain, take these to thine own hearth, A wondrous spoil; there hides not upon earth A chariot-team of war so swift and fair. ODYSSEUS. Say, Diomede, wilt make the men thy share, Or catch the steeds and leave the fight to me? DIOMEDE. [vv. 624-638] I take the killing, thou the stablery: It needs keen wit and a neat hand. The post A man should take is where he helpeth most. ATHENA. Behold, 'tis Paris, hasting there toward This tent. Methinks he knoweth from the guard Some noise of prowling Argives hither blown. DIOMEDE. Comes he alone or with his guards? ATHENA. Alone; Toward Hector's quarters, as I deem, he plies His message. He hath heard some tale of spies. DIOMEDE. Then he shall be the first dead Trojan! ATHENA. No; Beyond the ordainèd end thou canst not go. Fate hath not willed that Paris by thy deed Shall die; it is another who must bleed To-night. Therefore be swift! [_Exeunt_ ODYSSEUS _and_ DIOMEDE. For me, my guise Shall melt and change in Alexander's eyes, Yea, till he dream 'tis Cypris, his delight And help in need, that meets him in the night, And soft shall be my words to him I hate. [vv. 639-658] So speak I; but on whom my spell is set He hears not, sees not, though so near I stand. [_She becomes invisible where she stands._ _Enter_ PARIS. PARIS.