“The Greeks, O Atreus’ son, would bring on thee Dishonor in the eyes and speech of men, Breaking the promise made when first they came From Argos, famed for steeds, that, having spoiled This well-defended Troy, thou shouldst return A conqueror. And now, like tender boys Or widowed women, all give way to grief And languish to return. ’Twere hard to bear If, after all our sufferings and our toils, We go back now. And yet, whoe’er remains A single month away from wife and home Chafes if the winter storms and angry sea Detain him still on board his well-oared barque; And we have seen the ninth full year roll round Since we came hither. Therefore blame I not The Greeks if they in their beaked ships repine At this delay. But then it were disgrace To linger here so long and journey home With empty hands. Bear with us yet, and wait Till it be certain whether Calchas speaks Truly or not. For we remember well, And all of you whom cruel death has spared Are witnesses with me, that when the ships Of Greece⁠—it seems as if but yesterday⁠—