With no friend's loving cares,
It needs must be that still
It worketh a God's will,
That he the darts of Gods invincible
Should yet refrain from hurling against Troy
Till the full time is come,
When, as by fated doom,
(For thus it is they tell,)
It shall be his that city to destroy.
Chor.Hush, hush, boy.
Neop.What means this?
Chor.The heavy tread I hear,
As of a man who doth his sad life wear,
Somewhere, or here or there,
It falls, I say, it falls
Upon the listening sense,
That moan of one who, worn with anguish, crawls:
Those gasps of pain intense,
Heard from afar, to hide his anguish fail,
The groans he utters tell their own sad tale.
But now, boy . . .
Neop.What comes next?
Chor.New counsels form and try;
For now the man is not far off but nigh,
With no soft whispered sigh,
As shepherd with his reed,
Who through the meadow strays;
But he or falling in sore stress of need,
Sharp cry of pain doth raise;
Or he has seen our ship in harbour sail,
Strange sight! and comes in fear our presence here to wail.
