The Iliad of Homer - Get a Free Blog

Before the blast the lofty harvests
bend:
Thus o'er the field the moving host
appears,
With nodding plumes and groves of
waving spears.
The gathering murmur spreads,
their trampling feet
Beat the loose sands, and thicken to
the fleet;
With long-resounding cries they
urge the train
To fit the ships, and launch into the
main.
They toil, they sweat, thick clouds
of dust arise,
The doubling clamours echo to the
skies.
E'en then the Greeks had left the
hostile plain,
And fate decreed the fall of Troy in
vain;