As seems mid mountain-brakes an oak or pine By strength of the woodcutter half hewn through, Which for a little stands on what was left Of the smooth trunk by him who hewed thereat Hard by the roots, that its slow-smouldering wood Might yield him pitch -- now like to one in pain It groans, in weakness borne down by the wind, Yet is upstayed upon its leafy boughs Which from the earth bear up its helpless weight;
So by pain unendurable bowed down Leaned he on those brave heroes, and was borne Unto the war-host. Men beheld, and all Compassionated that great archer, crushed By anguish of his hurt. But one drew near, Podaleirius, godlike in his power to heal.
Swifter than thought he made him whole and sound;
For deftly on the wound he spread his salves, Calling on his physician-father's name;
And soon the Achaeans shouted all for joy, All praising with one voice Asclepius' son.
Lovingly then they bathed him, and with oil Anointed. All his heaviness of cheer And misery vanished by the Immortals' will;
And glad at heart were all that looked on him;
And from affliction he awoke to joy.
Over the bloodless face the flush of health Glowed, and for wretched weakness mighty strength Thrilled through him: goodly and great waxed all his limbs.
As when a field of corn revives again Which erst had drooped, by rains of ruining storm Down beaten flat, but by warm summer winds Requickened, o'er the laboured land it smiles, So Philoctetes' erstwhile wasted frame Was all requickened: -- in the galley's hold He seemed to have left all cares that crushed his soul.
And Atreus' sons beheld him marvelling As one re-risen from the dead: it seemed The work of hands immortal. And indeed So was it verily, as their hearts divined;
For 'twas the glorious Trito-born that shed Stature and grace upon him. Suddenly He seemed as when of old mid Argive men He stood, before calamity struck him down.
Then unto wealthy Agamemnon's tent Did all their mightiest men bring Poeas' son, And set him chief in honour at the feast, Extolling him. When all with meat and drink Were filled, spake Agamemnon lord of spears:
"Dear friend, since by the will of Heaven our souls Were once perverted, that in sea-girt Lemnos We left thee, harbour not thine heart within Fierce wrath for this: by the blest Gods constrained We did it; and, I trow, the Immortals willed To bring much evil on us, bereft of thee, Who art of all men skilfullest to quell With shafts of death all foes that face thee in fight.
For all the tangled paths of human life, By land and sea, are by the will of Fate Hid from our eyes, in many and devious tracks Are cleft apart, in wandering mazes lost.
Along them men by Fortune's dooming drift Like unto leaves that drive before the wind.
Oft on an evil path the good man's feet Stumble, the brave finds not a prosperous path;
And none of earth-born men can shun the Fates, And of his own will none can choose his way.
So then doth it behove the wise of heart Though on a troublous track the winds of fate Sweep him away to suffer and be strong.
Since we were blinded then, and erred herein, With rich gifts will we make amends to thee Hereafter, when we take the stately towers Of Troy: but now receive thou handmaids seven, Fleet steeds two-score, victors in chariot-race, And tripods twelve, wherein thine heart may joy Through all thy days; and always in my tent Shall royal honour at the feast be thine."
He spake, and gave the hero those fair gifts.
Then answered Poeas' mighty-hearted son;
"Friend, I forgive thee freely, and all beside Whoso against me haply hath trangressed.
I know how good men's minds sometimes be warped:
Nor meet it is that one be obdurate Ever, and nurse mean rancours: sternest wrath Must yield anon unto the melting mood.
Now pass we to our rest; for better is sleep Than feasting late, for him who longs to fight."
He spake, and rose, and came to his comrades' tent;
Then swiftly for their war-fain king they dight The couch, while laughed their hearts for very joy.
Gladly he laid him down to sleep till dawn.
So passed the night divine, till flushed the hills In the sun's light, and men awoke to toil.
Then all athirst for war the Argive men 'Gan whet the spear smooth-shafted, or the dart, Or javelin, and they brake the bread of dawn, And foddered all their horses. Then to these Spake Poeas' son with battle-kindling speech:
"Up! let us make us ready for the war!
Let no man linger mid the galleys, ere The glorious walls of Ilium stately-towered Be shattered, and her palaces be burned!"
Then at his words each heart and spirit glowed:
They donned their armour, and they grasped their shields.
Forth of the ships in one huge mass they poured Arrayed with bull-hide bucklers, ashen spears, And gallant-crested helms. Through all their ranks Shoulder to shoulder marched they: thou hadst seen No gap 'twixt man and man as on they charged;
So close they thronged, so dense was their array.
