Not hitherward do prudent men make voyage. 
Perchance one may have touched against his will. 
Many strange things may happen in long time. 
These, when they come, in words have pitied me,
And given me food, or raiment, in compassion. 
But none is willing, when I speak thereof,
To take me safely home.  Wherefore I pine
Now this tenth year, in famine and distress,
Feeding the hunger of my ravenous plague. 
  Such deeds, my son, the Atridae, and the might
Of sage Odysseus, have performed on me. 
Wherefore may all the Olympian gods, one day,
Plague them with stern requital for my wrong!

CH.  Methinks my feeling for thee, Poeas’ child,
Is like that of thy former visitants.

NEO.  I, too, a witness to confirm his words,
Know them for verities, since I have found
The Atridae and Odysseus evil men.

PHI.  Art thou, too, wroth with the all-pestilent sons
Of Atreus?  Have they given thee cause to grieve?

NEO.  Would that my hand might ease the wrath I feel! 
Then Sparta and Mycenae should be ware
That Scyros too breeds valiant sons for war.

PHI.  Brave youth!  I love thee.  Tell me the great cause
Why thou inveighest against them with such heat?

NEO.  O son of Poeas, hardly shall I tell
What outrage I endured when I had come;
Yet I will speak it.  When the fate of death
O’ertook Achilles—­

PHI.  Out, alas! no more! 
Hold, till thou first hast made me clearly know,
Is Peleus’ offspring dead?

NEO.  Alas! he is,
Slain by no mortal, felled by Phoebus’ shaft: 
So men reported—­

PHI.  Well, right princely was he! 
And princely is he who slew him.  Shall I mourn
Him first, or wait till I have heard thy tale?

NEO.  Methinks thou hast thyself enough to mourn,
Without the burden of another’s woe.

PHI.  Well spoken.  Then renew thine own complaint,
And tell once more wherein they insulted thee.

NEO.  There came to fetch me, in a gallant ship,
Odysseus and the fosterer of my sire[2],
Saying, whether soothly, or in idle show,
That, since my father perished, it was known
None else but I should take Troy’s citadel. 
Such words from them, my friend, thou may’st believe,
Held me not long from making voyage with speed,
Chiefly through longing for my father’s corse,
To see him yet unburied,—­for I ne’er
Had seen him[3].  Then, besides, ’twas a fair cause,
If, by my going, I should vanquish Troy. 
One day I had sailed, and on the second came
To sad Sigeum with wind-favoured speed,
When straightway all the host, surrounding me
As I set foot on shore, saluted me,
And swore the dead Achilles was in life,
Their eyes being witness, when they looked on me. 
He lay there in his shroud:  but I, unhappy,
Soon ending lamentation for the dead,