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13
PHILOCTETES.
Continued.
Onward the fatal hours and minutes steal,To-morrow shall his archery commence,
And Troy's proud walls be left without defence,
Open and mortal as Achilles' heel:
To-morrow that old suitor shall exact
Grim vengeance, now for ten years overdue—
For Menelaus and Œnone too—
Th' adulterer shall be slain—the city sackt:
Night falls—The mighty bow lies still on board,
And dips and rises with the heaving wave:
The ship-light flickers on that thirsty hoard
Of arrows, which the twelve-fold labourer gave;
The night-watch halts beside it, pondering all
The dreadful purport of his chief's recall.
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