I had not stayed the triumph of my spear 60
Ere I had burnt their ships, swept through their tents,
Slaying Achaians with this death-fraught hand.
Afire was I to press on with the spear
By night, take heaven-sent fortune at the flood;
But your wise seers, which know the mind of God, 65
Persuaded me to wait the dawn of day,
And leave then no Achaian on dry land.
But the foe—they for my soothsayers' rede
Wait not: in darkness runaways wax in might!
Swift must we speed our summons through the host 70
To grasp their ready arms, to shake off sleep,
That some—yea, as aboard their ships they spring,—
With backs spear-scored may stain their gangways red,
And others, bondmen snared in coiling cords,
May learn to till the glebe of Phrygian fields. 75
Chorus.
Hector, thy fiery haste outrunneth knowledge.
Whether they flee we know not certainly.
Hector.
Why then should Argos' host set fires ablaze?
Chorus.
I know not: yet mine heart misgives me much.
Hector.
If this thou dread, then know thyself all fears! 80
Chorus.
Such blaze our foes ne'er kindled heretofore.
