A truce succeeds the labours of this day, And arms suspended with a long delay. While Trojan walls are kept with watch and ward, The Greeks before their trenches mount the guard: The feast approach’d, when to the blue-eyed maid His vows for Cycnus slain the victor paid, And a white heifer on her altar laid; The reeking entrails on the fire they threw, And to the gods the grateful odour flew: Heaven had its part in sacrifice; the rest Was broil’d and roasted for the future feast. The chief invited guests were set around; And, hunger first assuaged, the bowls were crown’d, Which in deep draughts their cares and labours drown’d. The mellow harp did not their ears employ; And mute was all the warlike symphony: Discourse, the food of souls, was their delight, And pleasing chat prolong’d the summer’s night; The subject, deeds of arms, and valour shown, Or on the Trojan side, or on their own: Of dangers undertaken, fame achieved, They talk’d by turns⁠—the talk by turns relieved. What things but these could fierce Achilles tell; Or what could fierce Achilles hear so well?