University of Virginia Library

Scene VIII.—The Western bank of the Granicus.

Alexander and his Generals.
Par.
Come what come may, this battle should be lost!
A chance may save it, or the gods may save it:—
By laws of war this battle should be lost.

Alex.
You're sure of that?

Par.
Here all things are against us;
The stream is swollen with April-melted snows;
The banks are treacherous, the fords infrequent,
And shifting with the eddies. Alexander,
You fight not here with Thracians. Mark yon mount!
Nor Dacian there, nor Mœsian rules the war:
Old Rhodian Memnon sets his teeth, and knots
The tangle of his wiles to lash you homewards:
See him there gather'd on his war-horse staid
That 'mid those trivial prancers knows to stand;
Firm-set he sits, crook-kneed, with hand o'er eyes
That slowly take their survey of the field,
A man that deals with war in the way of business.
Lo, there, he hurls his horsemen forth in squadrons!
Your Phalanx next must cross the flood. What then?
The uneven ground will loose their wedged array
Like a spread hedgehog.

Alex.
Shake our standard forth!
Let sound the trumpets! Send our battle down,
The Macedonian and Pæonian horse,
And infantry light-arm'd, upon the right;
And on the left the Thracian; in the centre
Our moving fortress, fenced with brazen walls,
Our Phalanx inexpugnable. Amyntas,
See it march, slanting, up the river's bed
There where the brighter current marks the shoal:
Already hath it served us. Persia's horse
Forms opposite, beguiled, on broken ground,
That shall not help them. March with shields high held,
For turning of their shafts.