The chieftain knows the shadowy train,
And heaves a melancholy sigh:
Glaucus and Medon there they meet,
Antenor's offspring, famed in war,
Thersilochus and Polyphete
Who dwelt in Ceres' hallowed seat,
And old Idæus, holding yet
The armour and the car.
They cluster round their ancient friend;
No single view contents their eye:
They linger, and his steps attend,
And ask him how he came, and why.
But Agamemnon's chivalry,
When gleaming through the shade
The hero and his arms they see,
Are wildered and dismayed:
Some huddle in promiscuous rout
As erst at Troy they sought the fleet:
Some feebly raise the battle-shout;
Their straining throat the thin tones flout,
Unformed and incomplete.
Now Priam's son confronts his sight,
Deiphobus, in piteous plight,
His body gashed and torn,
His ears[errata 1] cut off, his comely face
Seamed o'er with wounds that mar its grace,
Ears lopped, and nostrils shorn.
Him, as he cowered, and would conceal
The ravage of the cruel steel,
The chief scarce knew: then, soon as known,
He hails him thus in friendly tone:
'Deiphobus armipotent,
Of mighty Teucer's high descent,
What foe has had his will so far
Your person thus to maim and mar?
