Chapter_403

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For over his winged poet-craft and its feigning

Hath some strange glamour of majesty brooded;

And beguiled by his inspiration’s constraining

Through his realm of faery lost we stray.

Ah, the general throng of mortals aye

Are blinded of heart! Were their eyes not hooded

From discerning the truth, never Aias the strong,

For the armour wroth, as is told in song,

Had thrust through his heart the sword smooth-bright⁠—

Aias, the mightiest man in fight,

Save Achilles, of all that to Ilium fared

By the west-wind wafted over the tide

With breath unswerving, to rescue the bride

Of Menelaus the golden-haired.