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191—222] . Nought of this is a marvel to me. By heavenly ordinance, if such as I may judge, those first sufferings came on him from relentless Chrysè; and the woes that now he bears, with none to tend him, surely he bears by the providence of some god, that so he should not bend against Troy the resistless shafts divine, till the time be fulfilled when, as men say, Troy is fated by those shafts to fall.

. Hush, peace, my son! . What now? . a sound rose on the air, such as might haunt the lips of a man in weary pain.—From this point it came, I think,—or this.—It smites, it smites indeed upon my ear—the voice of one who creeps painfully on his way; I cannot mistake that grievous cry of human anguish from afar,—its accents are too clear.

Then turn thee, O my son—. Say, whither?—. —to new counsels: for the man is not far off, but near; not with music of the reed he cometh, like shepherd in the pastures,—no, but with far-sounding moan, as he stumbles, perchance, from stress of pain, or as he gazes on the haven that hath no ship for guest: loud is his cry, and dread.

. O strangers!

Who may ye be, and from what country have ye put into this land, that is harbourless and desolate? What should I deem to be your city or your race?