learn. 

    So spake Ulysses; to whom Dolon thus,

Son of Eumedes.  I will all unfold, 505
And all most truly.  By the sea are lodged
The Carians, the Paeonians arm’d with bows,
The Leleges, with the Pelasgian band,
And the Caucones.  On the skirts encamp
Of Thymbra, the Maeonians crested high, 510
The Phrygian horsemen, with the Lycian host,
And the bold troop of Mysia’s haughty sons. 
But wherefore these inquiries thus minute? 
For if ye wish to penetrate the host,
These who possess the borders of the camp 515
Farthest removed of all, are Thracian powers
Newly arrived; among them Rhesus sleeps,
Son of Eioneus, their Chief and King. 
His steeds I saw, the fairest by these eyes
Ever beheld, and loftiest; snow itself 520
They pass in whiteness, and in speed the winds,
With gold and silver all his chariot burns,
And he arrived in golden armor clad
Stupendous! little suited to the state
Of mortal man—­fit for a God to wear! 525
Now, either lead me to your gallant fleet,
Or where ye find me leave me straitly bound
Till ye return, and after trial made,
Shall know if I have spoken false or true. 

    But him brave Diomede with aspect stern 530

Answer’d.  Since, Dolon! thou art caught, although
Thy tidings have been good, hope not to live;
For should we now release thee and dismiss,
Thou wilt revisit yet again the fleet
A spy or open foe; but smitten once 535
By this death-dealing arm, thou shall return
To render mischief to the Greeks no more. 

    He ceased, and Dolon would have stretch’d his hand

Toward his beard, and pleaded hard for life,
But with his falchion, rising to the blow, 540
On the mid-neck he smote him, cutting sheer
Both tendons with a stroke so swift, that ere
His tongue had ceased, his head was in the dust.[18]
They took his helmet clothed with ferret’s felt,
Stripp’d off his wolf-skin, seized his bow and spear, 545
And brave Ulysses lifting in his hand
The trophy to Minerva, pray’d and said: 

    Hail Goddess; these are thine! for thee of all

Who in Olympus dwell, we will invoke
First to our aid.  Now also guide our steps, 550
Propitious, to the Thracian tents and steeds. 

    He ceased, and at arm’s-length the lifted spoils

Hung on a tamarisk; but mark’d the spot,
Plucking away with handful grasp the reeds
And spreading boughs, lest they should seek the prize 555
Themselves in vain, returning ere the night,
Swift traveller, should have fled before the dawn. 
Thence, o’er the bloody champain strew’d with arms
Proceeding, to the Thracian lines they came.