He spake, and greatly was the aged king Bewildered by his words; with hair erect He stood, and motionless, while Mercury Drew near, and took the old man’s hand, and asked:—
“Whither, O father, guidest thou thy mules And steeds in the dim night, while others sleep? Fearest thou nothing from the warlike Greeks, Thy foes, who hate thee, and are near at hand? Should one of them behold thee bearing off These treasures in the swiftly darkening night, What wouldst thou do? Thou art not young, and he Who comes with thee is old; ye could not make Defence against the foe. Fear nought from me, And I will save thee, since thou art so like To my own father, from all other harm.”
Priam, the godlike ancient, answered thus: “Thou sayest true, dear son; but sure some god Holds over me his kind, protecting hand, Who sends a guide like thee to join me here, So noble art thou both in form and air, And gracious are thy thoughts, and blessed they Who gave thee birth.” With that the messenger, The Argus-queller, spake again, and said: “Most wisely hast thou spoken, aged man. But tell, and truly, why thou bearest hence This store of treasures among stranger men? Is it that they may be preserved for thee? Or are ye all deserting in alarm Your hallowed Troy? for such a man of might Was thy brave son who died, that I may say The Greeks in battle had no braver man.”
And Priam, godlike ancient, spake in turn: “Who then art thou, and of what parents born, Excellent youth, who dost in such kind words Speak of the death of my unhappy son?”
The herald, Argus-queller, answered him: “I see that thou wouldst prove me, aged man, By questions touching Hector, whom I oft Have seen with mine own eyes in glorious fight, Putting the Greeks to rout and slaying them By their swift ships with that sharp spear of his. We stood and marvelled, for Achilles, wroth With Agamemnon, would not suffer