d, Lord.

Hector.

                                   I am not.
    Is there an ambush? No? Then what,
    In God's name, brings you from your post
          With no clear tale to speak,
    To spread this turmoil through a host
    That lies in harness—do ye all
    Know nothing?—out against the wall
          And gateways of the Greek?

         Chorus (various voices confusedly).             [Strophe.

    To arms! To arms, Lord Hector!—Send
          First where the allied armies lie,
    Bid them draw sword and make an end
          Of sleep.—Let someone fly
    And get the horses' armour on!—
    Who goes with me to Panthoös' son?—
[Pg 5    vv. 29-54]Who's for Sarpêdon and the Lycians?—None
          Hath seen the priest go by?—
    Ho, Captain of the Runners, ho!—
    Ho, Trojans of the hornèd bow!
          String, string! For need is nigh.

Hector.

    Ha, silence there! . . .
                                 First words of fear,
          Then comfort. All an empty swell!
    It seems the lash of trembling Pan
    Hath caught you. Speak, if speak ye can.
    What tidings? Not a word is clear
          Of the whole tale ye tell.

[The turmoil subsides, theLeadercomes forward.

                                    &nbs