Page:Collected poems of Flecker.djvu/244

 And both his hands, and ravaged earless head, And cut nostrils–dishonourable wounds. Yet could he recognize the quaking ghost That strove to veil the horror of its face And called him in the voice he could well know:– "Deiphobus, Hero of old Trojan blood, Who willed you this vile punishment? To whom Was power against you given. Rumour told me On that last night how on a tower of dead, Weary with slaughter of the Greeks, you lay Prone. It was I then raised on Rhætian shore The empty mound and thrice with a loud cry Summoned thy wraith. Arms and a name preserve That place–but thee, dear friend, I could not find To bury e'er I left my native land." But Priam’s son:—"Friend, what couldst thou do more? Thou hast paid every due to death and me. But me my destiny true the sin Of that She-murderess of Spartan brood Whelmed in these woes: these are her monuments. How in deceitful pleasure that last night We spent, well dost thou know, too well must know, When with a leap o’er steep-stoned Pergamon Pregnant with soldiery, the fatal horse Its bristling burden flung. She, she it was With traitor dance led round our Phrygian dames The wild Evoe proclaiming! A huge torch She shook above the revel, which did call The Danaans from Troy Tower. I heavily Slept the meanwhile on couch of doom, and me 208