What steeds the car of Diomed could boast;
Among the leaders of the Grecian host
How look’d Achilles, their dread paramount—
“But nay—the fatal wiles, O guest, recount,
Retrace the Grecian cunning from its source, 140
Your own grief and your friends’—your wandering course;
For now, till this seventh summer have ye rang’d
The sea, or trod the earth, to peace estrang’d.”