It was not an alien to you that Troy bore in bearing me—it
is no alien’s blood that is trickling from the stem. Ah!
fly from this land of cruelty, fly from this shore of greed, 25
for I am Polydorus. Here I lie, pierced and buried by a
growing crop of spears that has shot into sharp javelins.’
“Then, indeed, terror, blank and irresolute, came over
me—I was aghast—my hair stood erect, my tongue
clove to my mouth. Yes, this Polydorus had long ago 30
been sent secretly by Priam, unhappy then as ever, with
a vast weight of gold, to be brought up by the king of