spear, whom Ajax, according to the existing rules of war, "deigned to take for his bride." She has to tell them of "a sorrow sharp as death." The rumour is all too true, for Ajax, the valiant, the mighty, the broad-shouldered hero (and she dwells fondly on each epithet), is the victim of a heaven-sent frenzy; and then she tells them all she knows of the wild work of the previous night. When the evening lamps burnt no longer, and all was darkness and silence through the camp, Ajax had taken his sword and gone forth alone, cutting short her remonstrances with a proverb (familiar to the Greeks, but which would find little favour in our days),—
"Silence, O woman, is a woman's grace."—(D.)
After a space he had returned, driving before him the sheep and oxen. Some of these he had slain, hacking and mangling them with insensate fury; others he had bound and lashed with the scourge, laughing madly the while, and threatening his fancied enemies. Then at last reason and remorse came upon him;—
"And when he saw the tent with slaughter filled,
He smote his head and groaned; and, falling down,
He sat among the fallen carcasses
Of that great slaughter of the flocks and herds,
Tearing his hair by handfuls with his nails.
And for a long, long time he speechless sat;
And then with those dread words he threatened me,
Unless I told him all the woeful chance,
And asked me of the plight in which he stood;
And I, my friends, in terror told him all,
