Athena.
Go: be thou sure that all thy care is mine, 665
That so triumphant I may see my friends.
Yea, and thou too shalt prove my zeal for thee.
[Exit Paris.
Ho ye! I bid you, over-eager twain—
Laertes' son!—let sleep the whetted swords;
For at our feet dead lies the Thracian chief; 670
Our prize his steeds are. But the foe have heard,
And close on you. Now must ye with all speed
To yon ship-channels flee. Why linger ye,
When bursts the storm of foes, to save your lives?
Enter Odysseus followed by Chorus, tumultuously.
Chorus.
Ha, smite!—ha, smite!—ha, smite!—ha, smite!
Stab thou!—stab thou!—who is this wight?
Semichorus 1.
Look ye on him—this fellow, I say!—
Semichorus 2.
Marauders who under night's dark pall
Are startling our array!—
Hitherward, hitherward, all! 680
Semichorus 1.
I have them caught in the grasp of mine hand!
Semichorus 2.
(To Od.) What is thy troop?—whence art thou?—a man of what land?
