For she it was, who, when as yet we sought,
Weak travellers, her hospitable door,
The kindly soil, to us large welcome gave;
The careful nurture of our nonage bare,
And bred us to be denizens-at-arms
And trusty targeteers in this her need.
And, to this day, in God's just equipoise,
To us-ward shifts the moving balance-hand;
For, long time shut within these bastioned walls,
Fair issue (under Heaven) in the main
Our warfare hath. And now, thus saith the Seer,
Who shepherds wingéd flocks ; not by things burnt
Divineth he; but inly cogitates,
With deep unerring art his auguries,
By prophecy, which is the voice of God,
Divinely taught:—A fresh attack, more strong
Than all that went before, the Achæan host,
Gathering by night, intend against the town.
Therefore make speed unto the battlements
And towered gateways every man of you,
Girded with all the panoply of war!
Man the breast-works! On turret-scaffoldings
Take post! And where forth from the City-gates
The roadways run, hold on with a good heart,
Nor at this rout of runagates be ye
Too sore dismayed; for God shall end all well.
Moreover, I have despatched scouts and spies
To watch the movements of their host; the which
I am persuaded went not out in vain.
And, having their report, there is no fear
I shall be caught in any ticklish snare.
Enter Messenger.
