Of Euxine, with my Thracian host to cross.
There upon Scythia's soil great blood-gouts dripped 430
From spears, of Thracian slaughter blent with Scythian.
Such was the chance that barred my journeying
To Troyland's plains to be thy battle-aid.
I smote them, took their sons for hostages,
Set them a yearly tribute to mine house, 435
Straight sailed across the sea-gorge, and am here.
I passed afoot the borders of thy land,
Not, as thou proudly tauntest, with deep draughts
Of wine, nor lying soft in golden halls:
But what the icy storm-blasts are that sweep 440
Paionian steppes and Thracian sea, I learnt
By sleepless suffering, wrapped but in this cloak.
Late is my coming, timely none the less;
For ten full years hast thou been warring now,
Yet hast achieved nought, dost from day to day 445
Against the Argives cast the dice of war.
But for me one sun's dawning shall suffice
To storm their towers, to fall upon their fleet,
And slay the Achaians. So, thy toils cut short,
From Ilium on the morrow home I pass. 450
Of you let no man lift in hand a shield:
I ruining with my spear will still the vaunts
Of yon Achaians, howso late I come.
Chorus.
(Str. to Ant. 820—832).
Hail to thee! welcome thy shout is, our champion from Zeus and our friend!
Only may Zeus the most highest forgive thee thy vaunt, and defend
Thee from the malice of jealousy, her with whom none may contend!
