Now to the Trojans the swift Iris came A messenger from aegis-bearing Jove, Tidings of bale she brought. They all had met⁠— Old men and youths⁠—in council at the gates Of Priam’s mansion. There did Iris take Her station near the multitude, and spake, In voice and gesture like Polites, son Of Priam, who, confiding in his speed, Had stood a watcher for the sons of Troy On aged Aesyeta’s lofty tomb, To give them warning when the Achaian host Should issue from their galleys. Thus disguised, Swift Iris spake her message from the skies:⁠—