“O son of Atreus, the revengeful heart Of Peleus’ son must leap within his breast For joy, to see the slaughter and the rout Of the Achaians, since with him there dwells No touch of pity. May he perish too, Like us, and may some god o’erwhelm his name With infamy. With thee the blessed gods Are not so far incensed, and thou shalt see The Trojan chiefs and princes of their host Raising the dust-clouds on the spacious plain In fleeing from our ships and tents to Troy.”

He spake, and, shouting, strode across the field. As loud a cry as from nine thousand men, Or from ten thousand hurrying to engage In battle, such the cry that ocean’s king Uttered from his deep lungs. It woke anew Invincible resolve in every heart Among the Greeks to combat to the end.