Volume 2 — The Watchers Of The Troad

By HARRY LYMAN KOOPMAN

Where Ilium's towers once rose and stretched her plain,

What forms, beneath the late moon's doubtful beam,

Half living, half of moonlit vapor, seem?

Surely here stand apart the kingly twain,

Here Ajax looms, and Hector grasps the rein,

Here Helen's fatal beauty darts a gleam,

Andromache's love here shines o'er death supreme.

To them, while wave-borne thunders roll amain

From Samos unto Ida, Calchas, seer

Of all that shall be, speaks: "Not the world's end

Is this, but end of our old world of strife,

Which, lasting until now, shall perish here.

Henceforth shall men strive but as friend and friend

Out of this death to rear a new world's life."