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:—
“Father! Thou art delighted with much speech, As once in time of peace, but now’t is war, Inevitable war, and close at hand. I have seen many battles, yet have ne’er Beheld such armies, and so vast as these— In number like the sands and summer leaves. They march across the plain, prepared to give Battle beneath the city walls. To thee, O Hector, it belongs to heed my voice And counsel. Many are the allies within The walls of this great town of Priam, men Of diverse race and speech. Let every chief Of these array his countrymen for war, And give them orders for the coming fight.”
She spake, and Hector heeded and obeyed The counsel of the goddess; he dismissed The assembly; all the Trojans rushed to arms, And all the gates were opened. Horse and foot Poured forth together in tumultuous haste.
In the great plain before the city stands A mound of steep ascent on every side; Men named it Batiea, but the gods Called it the swift Myrinna’s tomb; and here Mustered the sons of Troy and their allies.
Great Hector of the beamy helm, the son Of Priam, led the Trojan race. The host Of greatest multitude was marshalled there, And there the bravest, mighty with the spear.