Book II

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Ulysses now resolved to get Philoctetes to come to Troy, if he were still alive, and so, taking Diomede with him, he set out for Lemnos. They found him at the cave where they had left him ten years before. The wound was not yet healed, and he had suffered much, having had no means of existence except game which he had to procure himself.

Exposed to the inclement skies, Deserted and forlorn he lies; No friend or fellow-mourner there, To soothe his sorrows and divide his care.

SOPHOCLES (Francklin's tr.)

Still enraged at their former ill-treatment of him, Philoctetes at first refused the request of the two chiefs. Their mission would have failed had not Hercules appeared to him in a dream and advised him to go to Troy, telling him that his wound would be healed by the famous Machaon. He then gladly went with Ulysses and Diomede. On his arrival at the Grecian camp the great physician cured him by casting him into a deep sleep and cutting away the diseased flesh from the injured foot. He awoke in perfect health and strength, and at once joined his countrymen in the war, resolved to make good use of his fatal arrows.

An opportunity soon offered, for the Trojans now began again to venture out in the open plain, thinking that the Greeks were not so dangerous since the terrible Achilles was no longer at their head. Their new general in chief was Paris, and Philoctetes, happening to encounter him in battle, aimed at him with one of his poisoned arrows and pierced him through the shoulder. Paris was immediately carried back to the city, suffering intense pain, for the poison quickly began to take effect. Then at last the thoughts of Paris turned to the fair Œnone, whom, twenty years before, he had left in sorrow and loneliness on Mount Ida. He remembered her words, that he would one day have recourse to her for help. Hoping, therefore, that she might take pity on him, and perhaps cure him of his wound, for she had been instructed in medicine by Apollo, he ordered his attendants to carry him to where she still dwelt on the slopes of Ida. Œnone had not forgotten his cruel desertion of her, and so she refused to use her skill in his behalf. But when she heard that he was dead, she came down to Troy, and in her grief threw herself on his funeral pyre, and perished by his side.

She rose, and slowly down, By the long torrent's ever-deepen'd roar, Paced, following, as in trance, the silent cry. . . . . . . . Then moving quickly forward till the heat Smote on her brow, she lifted up a voice Of shrill command, "Who burns upon the pyre?" Whereon their oldest and their boldest said, "He whom thou wouldst not heal!" and all at once The morning light of happy marriage broke Thro' all the clouded years of widowhood, And muffling up her comely head, and crying "Husband!" she leapt upon the funeral pile, And mixt herself with him and past in fire.

TENNYSON, _Death of Œnone_.

Meanwhile the Ithacan king, not forgetting the other conditions mentioned by Helenus, set sail for the island of Scyros, where the son of Achilles resided. His name was Pyrʹrhus, or Ne-op-tolʹ-mus, and, as he was a brave youth, he rejoiced at having an opportunity of fighting the Trojans, by whom his father had been killed. Ulysses gave him his father's armor, and by many heroic deeds in the war he proved that he was worthy to wear it.

The Palladium was now to be carried off from Troy, and this was a task by no means easy to perform. But the man of many arts succeeded in accomplishing it. Putting on the garments of a beggar, and scourging his body so as to leave marks, he went to the Scæan Gate, and entreated the guards to admit him. He told them that he was a Greek slave, and that he wished to escape from his master who had cruelly ill-used him. The guards, believing his story, permitted him to enter the city.

"He had given himself Unseemly stripes, and o'er his shoulders flung Vile garments like a slave's, and entered thus The enemy's town, and walked its spacious streets. Another man he seemed in that disguise.-- A beggar, though when at the Achaian fleet So different was the semblance that he wore. He entered Ilium thus transformed, and none Knew who it was that passed."

BRYANT, _Odyssey_,