No! Welcome, friend, with all thy tale of fear! It shows they mean to fly: they mean to clear Decks in the dark and so delude my sight . . . [vv. 55-78] I like that beacon-burning in the night. O Zeus above, who checked my conquering way, Who baulked the hungry lion of his prey Or ever I could sweep my country clear Of these despoilers, dost thou hate my spear? Had but the sun's bright arrows failed me not, I ne'er had rested till the ships were hot With fire, and through the tents upon the plain This bloody hand had passed and passed again! Myself, I longed to try the battle-cast By night, and use God's vantage to the last, But sage and prophet, learned in the way Of seercraft, bade me wait for dawn of day, And then--leave no Greek living in the land. They wait not, they, for what my prophets planned So sagely. In the dark a runaway Beats a pursuer. Through our whole array Send runners! Bid them shake off sleep and wait Ready with shield and spear. 'Tis not too late To catch them as they climb on board, and slash Their crouching shoulders till the gangways splash With blood, or teach them, fettered leg and arm, To dig the stiff clods of some Trojan farm. LEADER. My Prince, thy words run fast. Nor thou nor I Have knowledge yet that the Greeks mean to fly. HECTOR. What makes them light their beacons? Tell me, what? LEADER. [vv. 79-90] God knows! And, for my part, I like it not. HECTOR. What, feared? Thou wouldst be feared of everything! LEADER. They never lit such light before, O King. HECTOR. They never fled, man, in such wild dismay. LEADER (_yielding_). 'Twas all thy work.--Judge thou, and we obey. HECTOR. My word is simple. Arm and face the foe. [_A sound of marching without._ LEADER. Who comes? Aeneas, and in haste, as though Fraught with some sudden tiding of the night. _Enter_ AENEAS. AENEAS. Hector, what means it? Watchers in affright Who gather shouting at thy doors, and then Hold midnight council, shaking all our men? HECTOR. To arms, Aeneas! Arm from head to heel! AENEAS. [vv. 91-109] What is it? Tidings? Doth the Argive steal Some march, some ambush in the day's eclipse? HECTOR. 'Tis flight, man! They are marching to the ships. AENEAS. How know'st thou?--Have we proof that it is flight? HECTOR. They are burning beacon-fires the livelong night. They never mean to wait till dawn. Behind That screen of light they are climbing in the blind Dark to their ships--unmooring from our coast.