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Dishonoured by the Argives: yet I think440
I know thus much, that had Achilles lived
To give his arms as prize of valiant deeds,
No one would then have seized them in my stead.
But now the Atreidæ got them for a man
Crafty in soul, and this my strength despised;
And were it not my eyes and mind had rushed
Wildly away from will, they had not lived
To give their votes against another man.
But now the virgin child of Zeus, with eyes
Of fearful brightness, when I stretched my hands450
Against them, sent a frenzied madness on me,
So that I stained my hands with these poor beasts;
And they, escaped in safety, mock at me:
Not with my will was this, but if a God
Should smite, the worse may 'scape the better man.
And now what course is right for me, to whom
The Gods are clearly foes, and all the host
Of Hellas hates me, and these outspread plains
And Troïa are mine enemies? Shall I,
Quitting my seat and sea-side anchorage,
Leave the Atreidæ by themselves alone,460
And cross the Ægæan waters to my home?
But then, how shall I look him in the face,
My father Telamon? How will he bear
To see me stript, without my valour's prize,
When he himself won glory's noblest crown?
That shame is past all bearing. Shall I go
Against the Troïans' fort, and fighting there,
Alone with them alone, do some brave deed,
And then at last gain death? But thus should I
Gladden my foes, the Atreidæ. Nay, not so:
I must seek out some perilous emprise,470
To show my father that I sprang from him,