Nor waited Paris in his lofty halls, But when he had put on his glorious arms, Glittering with brass, he traversed with quick steps The city; and as when some courser, fed With barley in the stall, and wont to bathe In some smooth-flowing river, having snapped His halter, gayly scampers o’er the plain, And in the pride of beauty bears aloft His head, and gives his tossing mane to stream Upon his shoulders, while his flying feet Bear him to where the mares are wont to graze— So came the son of Priam—Paris—down From lofty Pergamus in glittering arms, And, glorious as the sun, held on his way Exulting and with rapid feet. He found His noble brother Hector as he turned To leave the place in which his wife and he Had talked together. Alexander then— Of godlike form—addressed his brother thus:—
“My elder brother! I have kept thee here Waiting, I fear, for me, though much in haste, And came less quickly than thou didst desire.”
And Hector of the plumèd helm replied:— “Strange being, no man justly can dispraise Thy martial deeds, for thou art truly brave. But oft art thou remiss and wilt not join The combat. I am sad at heart to hear The Trojans—they who suffer for thy sake A thousand hardships—speak so ill of thee. Yet let us go: we will confer of this Another time, if Jove should e’er vouchsafe That to the immortal gods of heaven we pour In our own halls the cup of liberty When we have chased the well-armed Greeks from Troy.”