Chorus
Lord of Thymbra and of Delos, who haunt your temple in Lycia, Apollo, O divine head, come with all your archery, appear this night, and by your guidance save this man, and aid the Dardanians, O almighty god whose hands in days of old built the walls of Troy.
Chorus
May he come to the ships! May he reach the army of Hellas and spy it out, then turn again and reach the altars of his father’s home in Ilium! May he mount the chariot drawn by Phthia’s horses, when our master has sacked Achaea’s camp, those horses that the sea-god gave to Peleus, son of Aeacus.
Chorus
For he alone had heart enough for home and country to go and spy on the naval station; I admire his spirit; how few stout hearts there are, when on the sea the sunlight dies and the city labors in the surge. Phrygia yet has left a valiant few, and bold hearts in the battle’s press; it is only Mysia’s sons who scorn us as allies.
Chorus
Which of the Achaeans will the earth-treading murderer slay in their beds, as he pretends to be a four-footed beast on the ground? May he lay Menelaus low, slay Agamemnon and bring his head to Helen’s hands, causing her to lament her evil kinsman, who has come against my city, against the land of Troy with his army of a thousand ships.
Messenger
Lord, in days to come may it be mine to bring my masters such news as I am bearing to you now.
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