Enter Paris.
Paris.
War-chief and brother, ho, to thee I call,
Hector! Dost sleep? Behoves thee not to watch?
Some foe to us is nigh unto the host—
Marauders they, or peradventure spies. 645
Athena.
Fear not. I, Kypris, ward thee graciously.
I take thought for thy warfare, nor forget
Thine honour done me, and thy service thank.
And now, when triumpheth the host of Troy,
Leading to thee a mighty friend I come, 650
The Thracian scion of the Muse, the Queen
Of Song: he bears the name of Strymon's son.
Paris.
Gracious art thou unto my city still,
And unto me. I trow I won for Troy
Life's goodliest treasure, judging thee most fair. 655
Vague rumour brought me hither: some report
Amongst the guard had risen of Argive spies
Even now at hand. One saith it that saw nought:
One saw them come, yet nothing more can tell.
Wherefore to Hector's resting-place I came. 660
Athena.
Fear nothing: in the host no peril is.
Hector to quarter Thracia's host is gone.
Paris.
Thou dost assure me: lo, I trust thy words.
And free of fear I go to guard my post.
