righteous hatred of the selfish lust which has plunged his country into a bloody war—
"Was it for this, or with such heart as now,
O'er the wide billows with a chosen band
Thou sailedst, and with violated vow
Didst bring thy fair wife from the Apian strand,
Torn from the house of men of warlike hand,
And a great sorrow for thy father's head,
Troy town, and all the people of the land,
By thine inhospitable offence hast bred,
Thus for the enemy's sport, thine own confusion dread?
"Lo, now thou cowerest, and wilt not abide
Fierce Menelaus—thou hadst known, I ween,
Soon of what man thou hast the blooming bride!
Poor had the profit of thy harp then been,
Vain Aphrodite's gifts, thy hair, thy mien,
He mangling in the dust thy fallen brow.
But there is no wrong to the Trojans keen,
And they are lambs in spirit; or else hadst thou
Worn, for thine evil works, a cloke of stone ere now." W.
Paris has the grace to admit the justice of his brother's rebuke. Hector, he confesses, is far the better soldier; only he pleads, with a self-complacency which he never loses, that grace of person, and a smooth tongue, and a taste for music, are nothing less than the gifts of the gods—that, in fact, it is not his fault that he is so irresistible. He ends, however, with an offer which is far more to Hector's mind. Let open lists be pitched in sight of both armies, and he will engage Menelaus in single combat; Helen and her wealth shall be the prize of victory.
It is a proposal at which Hector's heart rejoices. He checks at once the advancing line of the Trojans, and steps out himself to the front. The Greeks bend their bows at him, but Agamemnon understands his motions, and bids them hold their hands. It is a fair
